The Warrior with No Name
by The Odd Little Turtle
Summary: What if Colossus and Shadowcat didn't actually meet until they were adults? 616-Earth? Pffft. Please. AU Kiotr, baby. 1st of 3 stories set in this universe.
1. Hero vs Kitten

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(AU Character study while I'm going through writer's block on my Tomb Raider fic. No continuity- AT ALL.

If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. I made some up too. Story's strictly for fun. Inspired by a few fics floating around ff dot net, Christine Feehan's Predatory Game, and my intense love for Colossus and Shadowcat. Spreading the love.

Be aware that I'm experimenting with tenses and points of view. I would appreciate some input.)

#

What do men do when they fall in love?

Lose their minds.

It's common knowledge to the friends of those smitten by Cupid's arrows. (But evidently it's also a closely guarded secret known only to those confirmed bachelors who want to retain their sanity. Oxymoron, ne?) Take The Warrior with No Name for example. He stays as far away from women as possible. To him, women are trouble. His Papa always told him that women were trouble. Even his older brother had told him. (But both men married early in life, which leaves him really confused.) The most astounding aspect of this gent's personality: He cannot, for the life of him, gather why he feels empty and lonely.

Pondering this quandary, The Warrior with No Name wonders if he should get a dog. A large dog. Like a Saint Bernard. The Warrior with No Name is six and a half feet tall after all. He's powerfully built, his chest broad and muscular, and he knows it, flaunts it--sometimes. Women swoon and men look at him in awe and jealousy. There are times when those irritating insecurities arise, and he wants to hide behind something, but just as long as only he knows about them, he surmises that it's okay. Another reason to remain a bachelor: Women know all a man's insecurities and let them know about it. Not good for the ego. Not good at all. Very unhealthy. He's sure of it.

Still pondering finding an online site for Saint Bernard breeders, his long, sturdy legs propel him casually down the rain-slicked sidewalk, his black umbrella just barely large enough to keep the rain off the expanse of his shoulders, let alone the damp paper sack of groceries cradled in his big square hand. The backs of his denim jeans are soaked with rain water. He is almost to his apartment building. As he reaches the six front steps to his building, he reaches into his pocket for his keys. It is in this moment that he hears it. At first, he thinks it's the wind and keys jingling that play tricks with his hearing.

Mew.

Oh, great, a cat, he thinks. The Warrior with No Name does not like cats. He doesn't really know why. He's never stopped to ponder why. He'd grown up with cats. He and his brother and sister had cats in 

Russia on their farm as they grew up. There isn't any reason that he shouldn't like cats. But this was the city and cats were not necessary in the city. Besides, by the American ways, women liked cats. And he was staying as far away from women as possible.

Mew.

It doesn't really sound like a cat. More like a kitten. A baby. Why would a baby kitten be out in the rain? Where is its mother? His heart clenches. He has never been able to stop himself from helping an innocent.

Mew.

There is a soggy cardboard box just beyond the steps. He knows that a boy from his apartment building had been trying to give kittens away earlier that day.

Oh, surely not.

The Warrior with No Name strides purposefully to the box and looks into it, his lips thinning with anger. Green cat eyes stare back at him fearfully. Seething with anger at the negligence of people, The Warrior with No Name picks up the drenched, freezing kitten, getting a scratch for his efforts. It's black and soggy and scared and no bigger than his hand.

"Shush, now, little one," he says quietly, tempering his anger with balancing the now-saturated sack of groceries, a mewling kitten and an umbrella while trying to unlock the front door of his building. Thankfully, Mrs. Brogan, the old land lady, has seen him struggling, and opens the door for him.

"Good evening, Peter," she addresses him as he struggles with the yowling wet kitten (whose tiny claws have sunken painfully into the flesh of his right pectoral muscle) and closing the umbrella without scaring the little creature too much. "What in the world do you have there?"

"Good evening, Mrs. Brogan," he says, handing her the kitten like it's on fire, wincing as he feels the kitten's claws tear loose and hears his shirt rip a little. "It's a cat."

"I can see that." She examines the scared feline as it yowls miserably. His blue eyes pierce the distance between them. "Jack, Jr. from B-15 was trying to give 'em away today. You got this one I guess."

The Warrior with No Name struggles to close his umbrella, juggling the grocery sack with his elbow. "No. This one was still in the box when I came home."

"Oh, the poor thing. Will you be keeping it then? Y'know there's a security deposit—"

"I do not like cats, but I don't like animal cruelty either. He will stay tonight, and I will drop him off at the shelter tomorrow."

Mrs. Brogan says nothing more about the cat as at that moment, the soggy sack of groceries disintegrates and all his groceries hit the floor of the apartment building foyer.

The Warrior with No Name groans and glares at the offending groceries, then at the yowling, squirming kitten in Mrs. Brogan's grasp.

"Not my night," he tells her as he stoops to get the frozen food, fruits, bread and box of condoms that now litters the floor at their feet. Without a word, Mrs. Brogan hands the cat back to him and goes into her apartment. She returns a few seconds later with a cardboard book box.

"Put your stuff in this, and then let the kitten sleep in this tonight. I'll let you slide on the money, because it's only for one night, but if I find out otherwise, it won't be pretty."

"I understand," he tells her, tries to give her a reassuring smile while scooping up the fallen goods with one hand and keeping a firm hold on the kitten at his chest with the other, "and thank you."

"Should you keep the cat—"

"I won't, but you would get a deposit if I did."

"I was going to say, should you keep the cat, there's a nice pet store three blocks down that sells litter boxes and cat food."

"Thank you, Mrs. Brogan," he says to her, placing the now quieted cat into the box with his groceries. "I will keep that in mind."

He walks up the three flights of stairs to this apartment and is just about to put his key into the lock when the kitten mewls fiercely. The Warrior with No Name, so surprised by the sonic attack, nearly drops the box. The kitten begins to cry in earnest as its footing is lost.

He sets the box down gently and picks up the kitten. He holds it to his chest, comforting it, whispering for its silence, petting it softly.

The next day, The Warrior with No Name trudges down the stairs. He stops in front of Mrs. Brogan's door, raps twice on the old wood.

"Peter."

"Here is the deposit money." He feels his face heat up as she looks at him knowingly.

"Thought you didn't like cats."

He shrugs his large shoulders, trying to be nonchalant. "I need company. I was thinking about getting dog anyway."

She chuckles and accepts the money.

The Warrior with No Name goes on his way silently, all too ashamed that he was easily pushed over by a kitten.

#

(I'm interested in any comments on this. This is not a one shot. I've got more coming.)


	2. Hero vs Kitty

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(AU Character study while I'm going through writer's block on my Tomb Raider fic. No continuity- AT ALL.

If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. I made some up too. Story's strictly for fun. Inspired by a few fics floating around ff dot net, Christine Feehan's Predatory Game, and my intense love for Colossus and Shadowcat. Spreading the love.

Be aware that I'm experimenting with tenses and points of view. I would appreciate some input.)

#

Journal Entry: April 3rd

I named my new friend Mikhail, after my eldest brother. I found out a few days after I had found the cat that I should have named her after my little sister. But by that time, I was already used to Mikhail, so my female black kitten with lively green eyes remained Mikhail. I also found out that she was malnourished and too young to be without her mother. The veterinarian, Dr. Leslie Graves, gave me instructions on how to tend to the baby and later that week the good doctor and I went for a movie and sex.

I switched veterinarians after that. I still get reminders for Mikhail's shots from Dr. Graves' office even two years after the fact. Strange world, isn't it?

I found another stray last night. I don't know why I took her in. Perhaps I was reminded of the soaked helpless kitten in the cardboard box so many nights ago…

#

"What?" Kitty Pryde blinked incredulously at the man sitting next to her, a lecherous grin on his face. As calmly as she could, she leaned forward, stretching the seatbelt across her chest resting her elbow on her knee, her elfin chin in her palm. "I don't think I heard you right."

Her date, one Wally Corburn, licked his lips. He enjoyed the fact that she was so small compared to him. So young and innocent. Full control of this one. He was sure. "Oh, you heard me alright. It's time to pay up."

"Pay up?" she squeaked. She leaned back against the plush neon blue seat. Kitty didn't think their date had cost that much. The food was barely edible and beer had definitely been warm. Ew. "With sex?" Double ew. Kitty pressed her lips together in anger, resisting the urge to use her several centuries of cumulative martial arts knowledge on Wally the Worm.

"That's right. I spent good money on you tonight."

An eyebrow raised in amused contempt. "Good money? I sincerely doubt it was anything but good. And I have no idea on what you spent one hundred dollars—"

"One hundred twenty-five," Wally supplied, hotly, staring into her gold-flecked brown eyes. He'd never seen eyes quite like hers. Not truly brown, not truly green, they were unusual, compelling and magnetic. She was petite and flowerlike. He'd been waiting all night to drag her small body close to his much larger frame and kiss her soundly. With a whole lot of tongue.

Kitty's eyes narrowed, waging war with his gray ones. "My mistake. I definitely have no idea on what you spent one hundred and twenty-five dollars since your choice of a restaurant is nothing more than a truck stop."

"Truck stop?" Wally looked as though she had killed his dog. "I will have you know that Marta's is one of the best places—"

"Yeah, yeah," Kitty cut him off by raising a delicate hand. "And serves food that's anything but Kosher. But I digress. Let me get a few things straight. I seem to be confused. You believe that since you went out of your way to take me on a date and spend one hundred twenty-five dollars during this date, you are entitled for me to sleep with you?"

"Damn right I am." Wally wondered why she was making such a fuss. He was doing her a favor. She should be grateful the attention. She was too skinny and too tiny. And she was nothing but a tease.

"Uh, huh," Kitty willed patience into her voice. She tapped out a rhythm with a long polished fingernail against the armrest, the only indication she was agitated. Her face she kept neutral. "And you're saying if I don't sleep with you—" She forced a smile. "—right here, right now at—" She looked at the oversized wrist watch on her delicate wrist. "—two-thirty in the morning, it's your intention to dump me out in the pouring rain?"

"You got it, sweet cheeks." The lecherous grin was back as he slid his hand along the back of her seat, his fingers not quite touching her, getting close enough to her face to have a closer look into those mysterious eyes of hers. "Don't you think you should be reasonable about this?" He made sure not to touch her just yet. Usually he was doing more touching, loving the power over he had over his women. But there was something about this young, innocent, lost-looking waif that made him check himself. Maybe it was her eyes, the haunted look in them, the warning in them. He would go slower with this one, be more cautious with Kitty. He was sure that she would sit right there when he made his move though, when he forced his mouth on hers and tore open her blouse, took what he wanted. He wanted to hear her plead not to leave her there in the middle of nowhere, in the rain. Wanted to feel his skin on hers in a primal, carnal way.

White hot fury singed the corners of Kitty's vision. She drew in a calming breath before she lost all control and left him bloody and choking on his own vomit. X-men didn't kill. Damn it! She knew she would be doing New York women a favor. "Not happening. I'd rather take on Magneto or the Brood 

than sleep with you." She slipped out of his sportscar, getting instantly drenched. "You're a rotten date, Wally--you smell like the East River and your comb-over is laughable."

"You're making a mistake," he called, furious that his plan didn't work. How dare she talk to him like she was a queen and he was her servant. Kitty's fingers itched to let him know who had made the mistake. "You're in the Bronx, Kitty. Drug dealers, deadbeats, drunks. You shouldn't stay here."

"I'm sure it's a lot better company, Wally." She slammed the door closed.

"You're gonna to be sorry!" he snapped, not understanding why this wasn't going the way he wanted it to. "This is your last chance! You think I want to have sex with you? You're no walk in the park, y'know. This is just a pity fuck."

"Hmm," Kitty said, pretending to think about it. "How tempting, Wally." She pretended to weigh it in her hands. "Sex with you or getting stuck in the Bronx. Did that work with some scared teenager? It's not really working for me. Frankly, I could care less what you do." She sincerely hoped that it didn't work on anybody. To wring this guy's neck would be so rewarding.

"You're going to be so sorry," Wally warned again.

"Oh, no Wally," she told him. She slid her molecules right through the door and grabbed her purse. "I think you're the one who's sorry. You aren't dealing with someone who scares easily."

Wally's eyes widened. He swore creatively and screeched away, fishtailing and nearly crashing into a parked car up the street. Kitty was left alone in rain, standing in the middle of the empty street.

She stomped her foot angrily. "Great." She lifted the heavy mass of saturated curls off her shoulders. "Y'know, Pryde, for being such a genius, getting out of the car was not the brightest thing you've ever done."

"It was very smart," a male voice said from behind her on the sidewalk. Several centuries of cumulative martial arts or not, Kitty had not heard anyone come up behind her. She squeaked and jumped involuntarily, dropping immediately into a fighting stance. There, under an umbrella that barely kept him dry, stood the dark figure of a man, big and powerful.

#

(Interested in any comments you may have. Not sure how I pulled off the characterizations. More coming. Not sure where this is going though, so it may not go much further.)


	3. Hero vs Adversity

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(AU Character study while I'm going through writer's block on my Tomb Raider fic. No continuity- AT ALL. And this doesn't really have a plot. Just writing what my muse tells me.

If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. I made some up too. Story's strictly for fun. Inspired by a few fics floating around ff dot net, Christine Feehan's Predatory Game, and my intense love for Colossus and Shadowcat. Spreading the love.

Be aware that I'm experimenting with tenses and points of view. I would appreciate some input. Happy reading.)

#

I am not sure what came over me. She was but a slip of girl, not tall but small and dainty. Her clothing and hair was saturated by the time I'd seen the driver race away angrily. She was not afraid of me. In the middle of nowhere, soaking wet and looking like she could take on the world. She probably could. It was in her eyes. The haunted way they watched me. I didn't know her age or name, but I felt compelled to converse with her, to help her, to protect her.

What the hell is wrong with me?

#

Kitty looked at the stranger, willing herself to relax. She could take him if she needed to. "Smart? I'm stranded, drenched and lost. How was that smart?"

The man was cloaked in a long black trench coat, his pale face and hands the only skin showing. Kitty took in his compelling blue eyes, his reserved handsome face. There was an air of isolation in his tall figure that Kitty couldn't place. She also got the feeling she should know him.

Before he could answer, there was a sickening sound of metal on metal and she instinctively knew that Wally the Worm had gotten into an accident. A shadow passed over them. Looking up, the silent figure of Spiderman headed in the direction of the wreck.

"I guess he can handle it without me," she said as gust of wind chilled her to the bone. She shivered.

Piotr Rasputin watched in awe as the Spiderman passed overhead toward the sound of the metal on metal. Thirteen years ago, Piotr would have gone to assist, but Piotr was no longer the X-man known as Colossus, no longer a hero. He looked down at the shivering girl, wondering what she meant, but didn't press the issue. She looked no older than a child, but her eyes… Those were not the eyes of a child, but a woman, a woman who had seen too much, had been to too many places. Her wide-eyed innocence was merely a smoke screen. He took a breath, then another and closed the distance between them. Though his back was now getting soaked from the rain, he sheltered her with his umbrella.

"Piotr," he told her in way of introducing himself. "I am called Piotr. You should not be in the street, in the rain, little one." He extended his hand.

Kitty nodded an agreement, eyed his extended hand, and then took it firmly in her own. Actually, his hand engulfed hers almost possessively.

"I'm Katherine, but I've been called Kitty since I was three."

"It is nice to meet you."

She decided she liked his voice, velvet-edged and strong with a thick European accent. "What are you doing out at two-thirty in the morning?" she asked conversationally as he guided her back to the sidewalk, a strong hand on her shoulder, and down the block to his apartment building. "I was getting dumped by an exceptionally bad date."

"Monahan's. Manhattan." His voice was a velvet murmur that sent her pulse skittering.

Kitty waited for him to elaborate and when he didn't her mind raced to ask another question. "Why are you helping me?"

He regarded her quizzically for a moment, his icy blue eyes searching her face. "Would you prefer I didn't?"

"Help is good." She gave him a wide grin.

Piotr's mouth twitched with amusement and he chuckled, a deep rumbling that started deep in chest and rippling outward warmly.

"Here we are." He dug into his pocket for his keys, wary of the girl as she looked up at him with curious brown eyes. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. "It isn't much."

"It's dry, right?"

"Da. Very dry."

Before he could put the key in the keyhole, the door opened to reveal a bleary-eyed old woman. A trail of blood trickled from her temple. "Mrs. Brogan?"

"Peter?" His land lady looks up at him hopefully. Tears prickle her eyes. "They—they stole everything."

"By the White Wolf." He hands the umbrella to Kitty and takes the older woman under her wing. "Have you called the police, Mrs. Brogan?"

Mrs. Brogan seemed confused, disoriented. "What?"

"The police," Kitty urged. "If someone stole your things, you'll need to report it."

Mrs. Brogan squinted at Kitty, eying her suspiciously. "I know everyone in this building and all of their relatives."

#

I was glad Kitty was there. Mrs. Brogan was injured. I had to explain to the poor woman who Kitty was, when I didn't even know who she was. I will go to visit Mrs. Brogan in the hospital just as soon as I am sure that Kitty is safe.

Is it okay to wonder if she will give me her number? I would like to stay in touch with her. She is not the type of woman to want a one night stand. There is something different about her. She is delicate and witty and has an inner strength that I have only seen in one other woman and that is Ororo Monroe. Even Jean does not have the integrity Ororo has.

I wish that Ororo had been at Monahan's with Logan but she had been away with her team. Logan said she was looking for a missing teammate codenamed Shadowcat. Apparently this Shadowcat is just as impressed with Xavier's dream as I am. (That is me being sarcastic.) And it also seems that Xavier is no longer at the mansion but on a sabbatical of some sort.

I've only seen Logan's eyes soften when speaking of Jean or Mariko. Shadowcat must be very special to him.

#

Piotr ran a large hand through his thick black hair, eyed the elderly woman on the stretcher. "Will she be okay?" The question was directed to the tall blonde woman in the EMT uniform that was taking Mrs. Brogan's vitals and helping her partner load the old woman into the back of the ambulance.

"It's a concussion," the EMT told him quietly, her green eyes meeting his blue ones. "Are you her family?"

"Nyet. No. I am only a tenant. This has been my home for more than ten years now. When Mr. Brogan had the heart attack that killed him, I drove Mrs. Brogan to the hospital."

"We'll do our best."

"I've contacted her son, but he cannot get here until morning. Which hospital will she be in?"

"Weiler."

"Peter, maybe you should with them." Piotr looked down at Kitty. She looked so tiny and fragile standing there in his oversized trenchcoat, her hair still damp from her earlier soaking. He started to argue with her. "I can call friends to pick me up." She didn't look too happy about having to do that.

"It is not my place," he told her, holding up a hand to silence the protest already forming on her lips. "Mrs. Brogan is not family. They would not let me see her anyway. David will be here in the morning. I will go with him when he gets here. You, however, I can help. You have been in the air conditioning too 

long and will catch your death if we don't get you a dry change of clothes." His fingers took her arm with gentle authority and he guided her up the three flights of stairs to his apartment in silence.

He unlocked the door and as he stepped in and flipped on the lights, Mikhail greeted him with her normal authority, running to him mewling, rubbing against his pants leg. "I am sorry I am so late getting home," he told the two year old cat as he stooped and scratched her back.

"You have a cat?" Kitty watched the interplay between human and animal in wonderment. She never would have guessed the big guy had a cat. A small, secret smile played across her lips. The animal came to see her next. She was very curious about the visitor, sniffing daintily like only a cat could as Kitty caressed her silken back. She missed the nonchalant shrug that Piotr gave.

"Do you think I could use your shower?" Kitty asked suddenly, her voice sounded tired. "Wally the Worm left me feeling funky."

"Funky." Piotr repeated the word. "Is that not a form of music?"

Kitty blinked. "That would be Funk."

"Ah. I've been America since I was sixteen, and I am still learning certain aspects of the terminology."

"How did you learn English?"

He drew his lips in thoughtfully. Piotr knew he couldn't tell her the truth, that Xavier had taught him telepathically, but he loathed telling her a lie. "I was taught in school," was the answer he finally came up with. Even after he'd said it, he knew it sounded lame, but it was technically the truth. She looked at him oddly, but didn't press the subject. He cleared his throat and pointed a thick finger at the hall in front of them. "The bathroom is just down the hall, second door on your right. I'll find you some dry clothing and get you a towel."

As she shrugged off his large trench coat, he was struck in awe of this girl, at her beauty. This dimunitive wisp of a woman stirred something long forgotten, something he should have been able to keep buried. He should have let her call her friends to get her and he should have gone with Mrs. Brogan to the hospital. He'd known her all of hour and already felt he'd known her much longer. When the door closed behind her, the pleasant expression he'd forced his face to wear melted into a scowl. He had a complete stranger in his bathroom. What the hell was he thinking? Obviously whatever he had been thinking, it wasn't clearly.

He was always careful not to bring a woman to his apartment. If he needed sex, he would pick a willing woman up at a bar and go home with her. But never would he bring her to his apartment. He almost had this evening. His waitress had been most appealing. But then Mrs. Brogan might have been dead by morning, so he was glad he had not given into the urge. There was also the fact that Kitty had been stranded not fifty feet from his home.

Piotr half-sighed, half-groaned, scrubbing a calloused hand over his somber face, and grabbed a clean towel from the laundry basket in his bed room along with a cotton tee shirt and a pair of boxers.

Knocking on the bathroom door, he opened it enough to put his hand and arm in. Steam billowed out, fogging up the narrow hall. "Kitty, here is a towel and something to wear. They are hanging on the door."

He shut the door closed without awaiting a response and padded to his bedroom, disrobing and throwing his laundry in the hamper near the door. He slipped into his pajama bottoms and threw on his pajama top, but didn't button it. There was no need. It restricted his movements while sleeping and he would be sleeping just as soon as Kitty finished her shower. He fed Mikhail and scooped her litter box, and then made his way to the first room down the hall way, his studio.

That's where Kitty found him, wedged into a papasan chair in the back corner of the room, one large leg curled under him with his black cat snuggled against him on his thigh, the other bent, a sketch pad in one large hand propped on his erect knee, a charcoal pencil in the other. His open shirt revealed a muscular chest covered with crisp dark hair. She took in his tempting, attractive male physique a moment, knowing the minute he became aware of her presence. Not that he looked up, because he didn't, but the way his body stiffened, the rich outlines of his shoulders straining against the fabric of his open shirt.

"So you're an artist?" Kitty stepped into the room, pleased that her voice revealed nothing of her inner turmoil, her brown eyes taking in his paintings. Piotr looked up then, not surprised that she was there. She'd been standing there as he finished his sketch of her.

"As you say," he replied, closing his sketch pad and putting aside. Kitty came to stand near an early oil painting he did of one of the few people he called friend.

"How—" she started, staring at it in wonderment. There was the man known as the Wolverine glaring balefully back at her. Logan taught her everything he knew, practically raised her as his own during her time as an X-man—er, X-woman. She looked at Piotr, the question shining brightly in her eyes. "How do you know Logan?"

#

(Input is welcome. That's all I can think of at the moment. I'll continue this as I think of it.)


	4. Hero vs Xmen

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. Spreading the Colossus and Shadowcat love because Pete Wisdom and Kitty Pryde seriously scared me.

Thank everyone for the reviews. I appreciate any feedback anyone has.

Just a reminder – I'm experimenting with points of view. Be afraid.)

#

April 3rd

Dear Diary,

Well, here I am again: Katherine Pryde, ex-X-man, girl genius, and all around doofus.

I met a man. An attractive European man. He was kind enough to take me in out of the rain. Okay, let me explain this one. This one is a doozee. But a girl's gotta get out, you know? First, Sal—you know, the tiny bald chick with the piercings? The owner of Riff's on the River? The one I told you digs other women—Well, she saw I was lonely and set me up with this guy named Wally Corbin, Corbun, Corborn, Corburn? Or something like that. So, Wally took me to this awful little place in Queens, then he drives me to the Bronx. The Bronx! Sheesh. If he'd actually driven me to an area of the Bronx that was rundown, then I'd worry, but he drives me to the Park. Near Andrea's place. And threatens to leave me there if I don't put out for him. Ew! So I get out of the car—in the rain! –and Wally the Worm drives off. And that's when I met HIM!

I can't even begin to spell his name. For spelling sake, his name is Peter. I don't even know his last name.

#

"How do I know Logan?" Piotr blinked at the beautiful girl standing in front of him. It was a huge revelation, but he still had trouble drawing his blue eyes away from her lithe tanned legs. He sighed, scrubbed a large hand over his face and set his sketch pad aside. His mouth felt like old paper, dry and dusty. By the White Wolf, how could he be so stupid? "He sent you, didn't he?"

It was Kitty's turn to blink. "What?" Her mind raced with questions. What did she really know about this man? Not much, she realized. Why would he think that Logan sent her? Was this big guy on Logan's hit list or something? Logan didn't need her to take out his enemies. He could do that just fine, please and thank you.

With relish.

And berserker glee.

"Logan set this up, didn't he?" Piotr pressed, his voice hard, awaking Mikhail by picking her up and setting her on the floor. The black cat blinked up at him sleepily and protested by way of meowing. He rubbed her back apologetically and stood, closing the distance between himself and Kitty, towering over her much smaller frame. "Logan knows me very well. I thought I knew him just as well." He shrugged his huge shoulders, his eyes flat as he gazed down at her elfin face. "I guess I was wrong."

Her face clouded with uneasiness. Smothering a groan as she realized how convenient everything looked, she stepped back, looking up into his blue eyes. "Piotr, I haven't seen or spoken to Logan in over a year. The last time I saw him was at a funeral."

Kitty closed her eyes, her heart aching at the remembrance of her lost love. For a moment she couldn't breathe so great was the pain. She gazed up at him in despair, looking too young and too fragile, and against Piotr's better judgment took her at her word.

"The last time I saw him was earlier this evening," he admitted, remembering speaking with the feral man at the bar in Manhattan. Logan had asked him to come back to the X-men earlier that evening. Even now Piotr was considering the offer, weighing his options. He was in serious need of training.

"There aren't many of us left," Logan gruffly had told him. "They're calling it M-day."

Piotr wondered if Kitty knew of Logan's mutation, and he wondered if she were perhaps a mutant as well. At least then he would have something in common with the petite woman besides the man known as Wolverine.

"Well, if you saw him tonight," Kitty began coldly, then thought better of it and heaved a sigh. "If you've known Logan for as long as I have, then you know that Logan honors whatever decisions his friends make."

"Da."

She indicated the painting of Logan with a flick of her small hand. "It's a nice painting." In fact she thought it was a damn good painting. It captured everything that made Logan—well, Logan. From the tense, bearded square jaw and enormous frown, to the cold steel of his eyes and thick brows drawn together angrily, she could imagine Logan telling Piotr what he could do to himself, when, where, how and why he should do it. She bit her lip to stifle a grin.

"Thank you." Piotr's heart thudded once, then settled back to its natural rhythm. He wrenched his eyes away from her face, her lips, gazing at Logan's portrait. He cleared his throat. "That is actually a recent painting from an older sketch. The sketch I did years ago while in school."

Her head flew up in shock, her eyes meeting his questioningly. "You knew Logan in school?"

He tried to put the matter aside with sudden good humor, his mouth curving into a captivating smile. "You are a curious one." He crossed to his chair and flopped down.

"Just getting to know you," she told him with a shrug of her narrow shoulders. She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile.

"How do you know Logan?" He leaned back in the papasan chair, sizing her up.

Kitty's face closed off, becoming neutral. "He trained me."

Whatever answer Piotr was expecting, Kitty knew that her reply hadn't been the one. She stood motionless in the middle of the room, her face revealing nothing. His face was a mask of astonishment. "You're an X-man?"

"You know the X-men?"

"Da. From the news," he said smoothly, with a casual shrug. "I never thought they would go public though." Piotr realized his folly as soon as the words left his mouth.

"Wait. Let's start from the beginning. You're--"

"I would rather not." He stood and yawned and stretched, the muscles of his chest and abs rippling. It took all of Kitty's willpower not to stare. "It's very late. I will fix up the couch for you."

She nodded as he crossed the room and out into the hallway, his long, sturdy legs propelling him with great speed. He could feel her sharp eyes boring into him as he walked away. He mumbled a steady stream of cursing in his native tongue as he searched his hall closet for blankets.

#

I'm stupid, Piotr thought as he gazed at himself in the bathroom mirror, his blue eyes flat and cold. White shaving cream ringed his chin and jaw. The cool razor grazed his stubble as he thought about the young woman sleeping soundly on his couch. Her eyes had haunted him in his sleep. She had almond colored eyes flecked with gold and green, but those eyes were those that had seen too much and too fast. His own innocence had been taken away by the fight for survival. If she were an X-man…He had an X-man sleeping in his living room. What the hell was wrong with him?

Piotr scraped more of his hair away, washing the foaming hair down the drain, remembering a time he'd tried so desperately to forget. When Godspoden Xavier had first asked him to join the X-men and come to live with him in America, Piotr had thought of all the good he could do for the world. Then he'd met Anya. He was amazed that after ten years, the hurt was still there. His first love. His only love. Her betrayal. He knew that he shouldn't blame Xavier for his hurt or any of his comrades. He was a man both blessed and cursed with being a mutant. It wasn't Xavier's fault that his wife had left him for being a mutant, that she'd taken their daughter away. Or that their daughter had contracted a virus meant only to kill mutants. And it wasn't Xavier's fault that he still lived in their old home.

He splashed the cool water over his face, purging himself of the ugly memories. He didn't want them, he didn't need them. Toweling his face dry, he decided that he would ask Kitty to leave as soon as possible. She shouldn't be here. Not with him. It didn't matter that she was a mutant, too. He left the bathroom with the intention of awakening her, of forcing her out of his home.

What would Mama say? He wondered. Oh, she'd grab him by the ear and give him a thorough tongue lashing. Naturally.

"Men are to treat women with respect," his mother told him once. "You want cooked food? You want your shirts mended and you underwear cleaned? Treat your wife like she is a precious stone, and she will love you and take care of you forever. And that includes your sister, Piotr Nicholaivich Rasputin!"

And Papa? Papa would take a twig to his backside. Mikhail would sternly say he deserved it. And Illyana would look at him crossly and tell him which finger to sit on.

So, instead of telling Kitty to leave, Piotr made her waffles.

#

(Ah, too much Shrek for me… Is it just me or does this story need more action? Comments welcome.)


	5. Hero vs The Network

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. Be aware that I'm experimenting with tenses and points of view. I would appreciate some input.

Many thanks to those who have already given their input on the previous chapters.)

#

And Logan! Peter knows Logan! And he knows about the X-men, before they were popular. How surreal is that?

I'm not sure what to make of Peter. He's sweet and good natured and attractive. But he seems like he has this chip on his shoulder, or maybe he's looking over his shoulder. Maybe Logan's after him? I don't know. I would like to find out though.

Did I say Peter was attractive? Man, oh, man! He's so tall and just—well, I guess sturdy would be a good word for him. Like a tree. His eyes—they're so blue. They see everything. Crystal blue and clear as the sky.

Peter has the most amazing hands, too. They're big and square. He's very sure of himself, his hands never waver. And his arms are big and muscular.

I think he might be a mutant. I told you about what happened right? About M-Day? No more mutants. Only a few of us can use our powers now. Kurt told me there are less than 300 hundred of us. Talk about endangered species. If Peter's a mutant, I wonder if his mutant gift is his anatomically correct body.

Dear, God, I am too old to crush on anyone. For crying out loud, I just lost my fiancé last year. Okay, so that's not "just lost", but he's gone. Pete's gone. It's been so lonely without him.

Wow. I just realized the eeriness of that. Pete died, but I meet someone whose name sounds like Peter. Now that is just too creepy for words.

I wonder if I should call him. We exchanged numbers this morning.

#

Piotr tried not to openly stare at Kitty's mouth as she chewed his freshly cooked waffle. Not only was she beautiful, she had a healthy appetite. Her hair was disheveled from sleep, a dark brown aura encircling her head. He focused on his plate, his half-eaten waffle, sopping up the syrup and forcing himself to eat.

"Is this a secret recipe?" she asked after eating three. She looked at him with amused wonder, meeting hi s gaze with a probing gaze of her own.

His laugh was low, throaty, his face flushing unexpectedly. "No. It's from a box." She made him feel like a school boy with a crush. He was suddenly very conscious of her pristinely polished nails, her petite frame wrapped in his too large clothing. As an artist his fingers itched to capture the moment on paper. Kitty looked so content and innocent. She had lost the fragile, haunted look of last night. As a man he was aware of her as a woman, and he suddenly wanted her out of his apartment before he did or said something foolish. What a predicament. Perhaps it was because he'd only had five hours sleep.

Kitty acknowledged his comment with a nod and ate the last bite with relish, savoring the sticky sweet taste. For the moment she ignored the light pink flush across Piotr's face. The blush was endearing, cute.

She was still dressed in his clothes. They smelled faintly of detergent, cologne and something altogether male.

"Do you think my clothes are dry yet?" The clothes in question were draped over and near the white, old-fashioned furnace in the corner of the living room.

He gestured to the furnace with his fork. "Your jeans are still damp," he told her, again the faint blush touched his cheeks. "Everything else seems to be dry."

Everything? Kitty couldn't help herself. She knew why he was uncomfortable now. She willed herself not to smile. "Everything else, huh?"

"Da."

"Panties too?" she asked sweetly.

"Da—what? No. I—"

A grin and a musical laugh. She was laughing at him. Oh, she had to go. Now. This was madness. He was sure of it. He glowered at her. "I am seriously rethinking taking you in."

"Now, now, Petey," she said, "I was just kidding."

She watched him mouth "Petey" in consternation, like he was running it through his personal Insult-o-meter, and by gauging the look he leveled at her, it must have ranked up there with dick weasel or something. "Nicknames?"

Kitty let loose a peal of laughter. "Well, Piotr is hard to pronounce," she told him, her pronunciation of his name grating on his ears, "and I'm not even going to try to spell it."

"The anglicized name is Peter," he offered, then wondered why he did so. How could he invite trouble just that easily? She confused him and intrigued him all at the same instance. "There is something wrong with me," he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Oh?"

"Da. I am never this way around anyone." He sopped up the last bit of syrup on his plate with the final morsel of waffle and chewed it thoughtfully, watching her with his blue eyes.

She couldn't read what was on the man's mind, so she grinned and said, "I'm just special, I guess."

Special. Perhaps. What was it about this woman with the sad eyes? The petite brunette finished her juice then took her dishes to the sink. She came back and took Piotr's dishes from him.

"I can do that," he protested. He may have been thinking rude thoughts of kicking her out, but she was still a guest in his home.

She waved his hands away. "Nah, least I can do." Her brown eyes met his blue ones as he sat on the black leather stool at the stainless steel topped kitchen island. He was still taller than her sitting down. "I don't want to seem ungrateful for your help. Cuz I am. Grateful. For your help." She held his gaze a moment before turning away and rinsing the plates, adding soap and washing them. Piotr, not really knowing what else to say or do, dried them when she finished and put them away.

"You look very young," he said as he put away the last dish. "May I know your age?"

"Didn't you know it's impolite to ask a lady her age?"

"Just getting to know you," he repeated her statement from the prior night.

Kitty sighed dramatically. "Twenty-four."

For a moment, he eyed her with a critical squint. Kitty felt like squirming, but refrained from moving, meeting his assessment head on. "You look much younger," he finally admitted.

"So that's why you helped me. If you'd known I was an old maid, you would have left me in the rain."

She made it a joke. He took offense anyway. "My intentions were and still are honorable."

"Never said they weren't, Peter," she told him honestly. His anglicized name rolled off her tongue smoothly, sounding natural.

He nodded, glanced at the clock. "David will be arriving soon. I do not mean to seem rude, but I should be taking you home. I will be accompanying him to the hospital to check on his mother."

"I'll get dressed. I'll just call a cab. If he's going to be here soon, then it'll take you too much time to get me home and get back. I live in Brooklyn."

"I cannot believe your boyfriend just left you here." Irritation boiled over into his voice, deepening it. Kitty felt like swooning.

"It's alright," she grinned at him as she collected her clothing. The jeans were indeed damp around a few of the seams. "He wasn't my boyfriend anyway. A friend of mine set us up. She said I was lonely. Needed someone. Shows what she knows."

"I suppose," he said, shrugging his shoulders, straining the fabric of his gray tee shirt. "However, if I find him, I will hurt him."

Kitty could only laugh. She touched his forearm, electricity slicing up through her fingers. "Only if I get the first punch."

"I will hold him down for you, da?" An easy smile passed over his features, softening his face.

"You better," she told him. "I'll be ready in a minute. Would you do me a favor and call a cab? You know your address better than I do."

"Of course." She hurried out of the room and into the bathroom. His arm was still warm where her fingers had grazed his skin. He inspected it for burn marks.

Regaining his thoughts, his composure, he shook his head. No more of this foolishness. She needs to go, he thought. There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that reminded him she was single and lonely. He promptly told said voice where to go. He wasn't looking for a relationship. Women were trouble. If he needed sex, there were plenty of willing bedmates in bars.

He called for her a cab and gave the address. Fifteen minutes. He had fifteen minutes left with her. He didn't know if he should cringe or jump for joy. When Kitty glided out of the bathroom, Piotr's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. She'd tied her brunette locks into a tail at the base of her neck. Her blue quarter-sleeved blouse hid most of her curves, but she'd left the top two buttons undone. Piotr's eyes trailed downward, eyed her cleavage as only an appreciative man could. He watched her hips sway as she walked, each stride was fluid. The dark denim clung to her legs, flaring out at the bottom.

She no longer looked like the drowned kitten, but walked like a graceful cat.

Katya.

Perfect, he thought miserably. Now I've given her a nickname too.

Coming out of the bathroom, Kitty hadn't expected the intensity of Piotr's gaze. He looked at her as though he were photographing her with his eyes. She expected to be irritated that he was eyeing her the way he was, but instead she was drawn to him like a moth to a candle. Oy, vey. She should be running the other way.

"Your ride should be arriving in—" Piotr glanced at the clock on the stove—"ten minutes, Kitty."

"Thank you, Peter," she said, and meant it. "For everything."

"My pleasure."

Kitty wanted to melt. "The waffles were great."

"Glad you liked them."

"Wanna exchange numbers?" she ventured.

Piotr hesitated, pursed his lips. "Just friends, right?" he inquired. He had a peculiar look on his face. Kitty couldn't place the expression. Was that fear?

"Naturally," she assured him. "I've been through too much to really want anything else. Not that I think you'd dump me in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. I just enjoy talking to you, enjoy your company. Any problem with that?"

"No. Not a problem." Yet, intoned the logical side of his brain. The illogical side was giddy that Kitty wanted his number and promptly smashed the logical side with a shiny metal fist. "I have enjoyed your company also."

#

The worn pad of his thumb pressed the numbered buttons of his cell phone. His other hand held a note with curvy feminine writing. Both palms felt sweaty, his breathing labored.

"You've called plenty of women before, Piotr Nicholaivich," he told himself as his thumb hovered dangerously over the "call" button. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why he was so nervous. He was only checking up on her. He should have been the one to ask for her number anyway. To make sure the cab driver took her home like he was supposed to.

Besides, Kitty had asked to keep in touch. That was what he was doing—trying to do if he could only get his thumb to press the final button on his phone. Nothing wrong with keeping touch with a friend. Kitty wanted a friend. He wanted a friend. Everyone needed a friend, right? That was okay. Platonic was okay. Romantic was not. He did not want romantic with anyone.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, groaning. There was nothing wrong with wanting to have a friend. Mikhail hopped into his lap mewling. Both paws on his chest, she nudged his chin with her head, purred when he patted her back.

"Did you like Kitty?" he asked her, rubbing her chin. "I gave her a nickname. Katya," he said it to try it out. It sounded good and it fit Kitty's grace and poise. "Logan knows her. Perhaps I should call Logan and ask him about her?"

Mikhail only head-butted his chin again, all the while purring. She curled up in his lap, her claws digging into his jeans.

He sighed looking down at his beloved animal. "You are no help."

She only looked up at him sleepily, her tail sloshing to and fro lazily. "Mew," she told him, and went back to gently kneading his leg with her claws. Her purring calmed him somewhat.

He took a deep breath and pressed the call button.

Kitty was maneuvering her black Volkswagen Beetle around an irritatingly slow driver when her cell phone rang.

"You have a stalker!" the downloaded ring tone sing-songed happily. "I don't. You do! I can sleep at night! You're gonna die! Neener, neener, neener!" The ringtone was her catchall for those numbers not programmed into her phone. A wide grin split her face in spite of herself. It was a fun ringtone, albeit embarrassing on crowded elevators. She let it ring, enjoying the squeaking tone. She'd call back whoever left her a message after she got out of traffic. One thing she didn't need was another citation.

"Hi, this is Kitty Pryde's cell phone. I'm not able to answer for one of the following reasons: One, stuck in traffic. Two, avoiding you. Three, don't recognize your number. Four, already on the phone. Five, beating the living tar out of bad guys. Leave me a message. If you feel you've reached this recording in error, call back later."

Piotr's lips pulled into a smile despite his nervousness. He waited patiently as the network voice told him to leave a message or press pound to leave a numerical page. Suddenly he was at a loss for words.

"Kitty," he began, thinking how dumb his voice sounded. "I, uh, was just giving you a call to see if you made it home safely. Mrs. Brogan will be coming home tomorrow. The doctors say she will be okay. I am having lunch with her tomorrow."

Belatedly, he realized he didn't give his name and the network voice was back. Did he want to try his message again? For certain. He pressed four.

"Kitty," he started again, "This is Peter. Peter Rasputin. I was calling to check if you made it to your home safely. I am home from the hospital. Mrs. Brogan will be coming home tomorrow. She is okay. We are—" The network voice interrupted him. Okay, so he would have to talk faster. No problem. He pressed four.

"Kitty. It's Peter. Mrs. Brogan will be coming home tomorrow from the hospital. I am calling to see if you made it home safely and if you would like to have lunch with Mrs. Brogan, her son, David, and I—" Again, the network voice interrupted him and he nearly crushed his phone. Gritting his teeth, he pressed four. Again.

"Hi, it's Peter. Just calling to make sure you are home safely. Mrs. Brogan, her son, and I are having lunch tomorrow and I wanted also to invite you. Please return my call." He hung up, tossed his phone to the side and put his head in hand.

"I sounded like an ass," he lamented to Mikhail, who only purred in return.

#

(This chapter was so much easier to write than the last one. Hope everyone had as much fun reading this as I had writing it. The dialogue wasn't as stuffy and forced.)


	6. Hero vs Soda

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(If Marvel made them up, that's who they belong to. If I made them up, mine--but I can share.

Reminders – experimenting in points of view. Let me know if something doesn't make sense or is out of character. Extra tidbit – I stopped collecting Marvel when they killed Colossus and only found out, by chance, recently--MARCH--that they'd brought him back. Still researching the issues of the past few years. Yes, years. I've got A LOT of catching up to do.

Comments, questions, input, spell-check always welcome.)

#

April 4th

Dear Diary,

Me again.

Lunch with Peter was an interesting experience. I learned all sorts of things about him. But not from him. He was quiet for the majority of the time. Not that I blamed him. He was as red as Cyclops' ruby quartz lenses for most of lunch, too. I learned about Peter and his life mostly from David Brogan.

David's been trying get Peter to buy the tenancy from his mother. He would prefer Mrs. Brogan come to Connecticut and live with him. I hope if Peter does take over, that David doesn't put his poor mother into some nursing home. That would be just awful. She's such a sweet lady. And Peter seems to be very fond of both her and her son. Thank goodness they're both very open to mutants. Apparently the senior Mr. Brogan was a mutant.

#

"So, you're from Siberia?" Kitty questioned, impaling a radish with her fork.

Kitty, Piotr, Mrs. Brogan and her son sat outside at a quaint café on Bruckner Boulevard round an unsteady square table beneath a brightly-patterned umbrella. The sounds, scents, and flavors of the city flowed in and around them. For all the rain it did the last few days, it was sunny and pleasant, though not without humidity making the air thick and hair heavy. Mrs. Brogan--she insisted Kitty call her Evie—sat in a wheelchair, her withered face marred with a bruise and a bandage over her temple.

Piotr shifted uncomfortably, throwing a look at David Brogan. David was in his mid-twenties, slender rather than tall, with an appealing face that seemed to only know how to smile. Piotr wished the man would shut the hell up and eat his lunch.

"Da." He shoveled food into his mouth to avoid elaborating. He saw David roll his brown eyes and regretted his hasty withdrawal from the conversation. David, his so-called friend, was going to add something embarrassing. Again.

"He's a Russian farm boy with a heart o' gold," David said, his Connecticut accent thick. Piotr would have snorted at the comment, but was afraid the food would come out his nose. He chewed quickly, his mind racing with something to say.

Kitty saved him by changing the subject. She directed a question at Mrs. Brogan. "Have the police had any luck with retrieving your things, Evie?"

"None whatsoever," Mrs. Brogan sighed. She flicked an imaginary speck of dirt from her dress, lined up the place mat with her dish, and arranged her silverware. Piotr had known the elderly woman long enough to recognize the signs of distress. He opened his mouth to speak, but again Kitty beat him to it.

"I saw Spiderman in the area that night," she said, took a sip of water. "I'll ask a friend of mine if Spiderman can help. He may have seen something, not realizing it was a robbery."

Mrs. Brogan flattened her palms against her dress. "How could he have not known?"

"Well, he may be a super hero, but I know for a fact that he's human," Kitty explained. "Not even he can catch everything. He may not have even been patrolling the area when the robbery occurred."

"Wait, you have a friend who knows Spiderman?" David inquired his eyes wide.

She ducked her head, examined her food closely. "Um, actually I know Spiderman," she admitted. "I just don't have his cell number. His roommate is in one of my computer classes."

"Amazing," David said.

Kitty felt instantly guilty for lying to them, but she wasn't about to reveal Spiderman's identity. She'd met Spiderman years ago and had fought beside him on many occasions as an X-man and even after she'd retired. In fact, it wasn't until she'd re-enrolled at Columbia that she'd really gotten to know him and his alter personality. Even that had been an accident. But glass does tend to shred masks. Especially when the mask in question is on the head of a superhuman dressed as a spider and said superhuman is hurled through a glass patio door at a frightening liquid speed.

She took another bite of her food, recalling Peter Parker and their chance meeting seven months ago. Boy, she was glad she had decided to add Super Fights to her renters' insurance policy. As she chewed and swallowed, she thought about the ridiculous price of renters' insurance in New York. It was almost as difficult to get property insurance in New York as it was to get it in Florida or other coastal regions. At least those states had hurricanes causing all the damage and not some super-powered schmo in spandex hell-bent on world domination fighting other super-powered schmoes in spandex hell-bent on stopping him. She was glad she didn't own real estate, please and thank you; she didn't even want to imagine the property taxes.

"Have you ever been rescued by Spiderman?" David asked her and all eyes fell on her.

She shook her head. "Can't say that I have," she lied. When she was fourteen, Spiderman had caught her out of the air after Doc Ock had gassed her. She'd been trying to disrupt his bionic arms with her phasing ability. But that was definitely not dinner conversation. Kitty regretted ever bringing up Spiderman.

"Do you think he's a mutant?"

"David, dear," Mrs. Brogan placed a hand on her son's forearm, nervously looking around the outdoor café, "not so loud."

It was Piotr who spoke up then. "Spiderman was bitten by a radioactive spider. The radiation from the spider venom penetrated his genes, rearranging the coding. Most medical journals classify mutants in a totally different category." He grinned sheepishly at the awestruck stares. "I have a friend who is a geneticist. Dr. Henry McCoy."

"Wow, Peter, you know Hank, too?" Kitty asked.

Piotr studied the chicken salad on his plate with great interest, gave a small nod.

"So you guys just happened to meet each other two nights ago and you just happen to have mutual friends?" David questioned, his dark brow sweeping up in a gesture Piotr knew meant he wouldn't believe a thing they said otherwise.

"Funny how that works," Kitty stated, her eyes challenging.

"Peter told us what happened, dear," the elderly woman said, reaching across the table corner and giving Kitty's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Kitty grimaced. "I'm still trying to forget. I'm glad New York still has a few decent people though." She gave Piotr a genuine smile.

"Well," David said, a big grin on his face as he leaned back in his chair, "if Peter doesn't ask you on a few dates, I'll definitely take you. You won't have to worry about getting left anywhere. I'd stick to you like glue."

Piotr tensed as Kitty laughed. Jealousy, cold and black, incensed his heart for no reasons that he could possibly conceive. She wasn't his woman. She could see anyone she wanted. Even David.

Who claimed to be happily married.

"I don't know about that," Kitty said as Piotr tried desperately to quell his rage. "I think I'll be steering clear of anything called a 'date' for a very, very long time. Especially if it has 'blind' attached to the front of it. I've just got to tell my friend Sal to stop setting me up all the time. She thinks that just because she's in a relationship, I need one too."

"Blind dates are the worst," David agreed.

Piotr arched a heavy brow. "Wasn't Amelia a blind date?" he asked. "You married her."

David ducked his head, eyes averted.

"Peter, how is your sister?" Mrs. Brogan asked pleasantly.

Piotr began to relax immediately, thinking of his baby sister. "She is very well. Her grades have greatly improved since last semester." He retrieved his sketch pad from the backpack on the back of his chair, flipped it open and found a picture. He gave it to the elderly woman sitting across from him.

Who needed photos when you can just draw everyone? Kitty wondered.

"My, she's grown," Mrs. Brogan said thoughtfully. "She'll be a married woman before you know it. Is she still enrolled in the private school upstate?" She passed the book to her son, who appraised the image.

"Da. I thought they were going to expel her last year. I didn't think anyone was going to get through to her." David passed the book back to Piotr, and he in turn passed it to Kitty. The image was that of a young girl, a teenager, with long straight hair, a cherub's heart-shaped face, flashing feminine eyes, a button nose and a Cheshire smile. One manicured eyebrow was arched mischievously. She stood with her hands on her hips, her feet braced apart, confident. Her beauty was tempered with youth, but Kitty could tell that she was going to be a knockout when she got older. Piotr would definitely have his hands full with her gentlemen callers.

"She's very pretty," she commented as she handed his sketch pad back.

"And she lets me know that every time I see her," he said with a smile. He frowned suddenly. "Illyana Nikolievna is fifteen, knows everything and is going through some odd kind of teenage growth period. What is the word?" He pursed his lips. "Everything is black, lipstick, makeup, clothing, nail polish. She wanted to dye her hair black, but I told her I would never speak with her again if she did."

"Goth," Kitty supplied.

"That is the one."

Kitty eyed him questioningly. She waited until he took a sip of his soda before asking, "So how many piercings does she have?"

#

(I'll leave the rest of the conversation to the wonderful imaginations of the readers. grins

Anybody else believe in Magik?)


	7. Hero vs PMS

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Character studies on Wolverine and Magik this chapter. Woo-hoo. I finally got to write a little action! And it actually ties in with the story line. does happy dance

If Marvel made them, that's who owns them.

I appreciate the advice and comments from everyone who has been kind enough to read and review. Input is always welcome.

M rating from now on. Language and … ah, stuff…)

#

Journal Entry: April 4th

I am beginning to think there is a force that is out to get me. I have not found a way to prove it as of yet, but I know in my gut that there is something that wants me to be miserable. There has seldom been a time that I have been so embarrassed. Lunch was a complete disaster, and Kitty ended up running away. I am still not sure if it was me or Logan from whom she was running. Perhaps they are not as close as I first assumed.

I will call her when I summon the gumption to do so.

#

Logan's frown was impressive. It tugged the corners of his lips down to his square chin, turned his gray eyes into bits of stone, drew his bushy black brows tightly together and made his nostrils flare. The cause of said frown: His A-student was flunking Ass-Kicking 101.

Holding in a growl, he tried the maneuver again, this time at a slower pace, and he still got through a poorly constructed block. Said A-student turned F-student promptly fell back on her little ass.

"Yer not even tryin', Half Pint." Though he spoke softly to the teenager with blonde, blue and purple hair, his voice carried a unique force. He intimidated many a man with that voice. Her blue eyes only spit cobalt fire at him.

"I am not half a pint!" she declared angrily, jumping up, her fists balled at her side. Logan noted that she didn't deny she wasn't trying.

"Then prove it!" He barreled after her with a flying kick. Eyes wide, his student used her mutant powers and teleported away at the last instant, narrowly avoiding him. Her powers generated golden, glowing teleportation disks. The smell of cherry blossoms hit his hypersensitive olfactory glands. The scent reminded him of Japan. As much as he enjoyed being around his Half Pint, it irritated him to no end that 

her disk's scent reminded him so much of his ex-fiancee, Mariko. He shook off the longing with a growl as a disk opened at safe distance several yards away, and she jumped out of it.

She stomped her foot. "I wasn't ready!" she yelled, hands fisted on her hips.

"No shit," he mumbled. He needed a beer. Out loud he ordered, "Stop wastin' my time, Illyana."

Illyana Rasputin huffed, blew a stray lock of flaxen hair out of her eyes and marched over to her martial arts instructor. He was being so difficult today. Why couldn't they just meditate or something? She took up another fighting stance that made Logan glare daggers at her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he finally demanded. "Yer wide open!"

The young mutant's eyes were damp. He sniffed the air, catching her spicy scent and the grape shampoo she always used. It wasn't her time of the month. Damn teenage angst, he thought eying the young Russian, worse than her damn brother.

Heaving a sigh, he allowed his features to soften. A little. "Talk to me, Half Pint."

Illyana hesitated, distrust in her eyes. Her posture told him that she thought he might attack at any minute. Good. At least she was learning something. He forced himself to relax and sat in the grass, gray eyes closed, lotus position. It was a sunny day at Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning. Plenty of light left. Why not let her brood for a few minutes before pummeling her?

She flopped down beside him, grabbing her ankles and trying to mimic him. He sensed her struggling with the pose and suppressed a grin.

"It's Piotr." Illyana spoke so softly, that had it not been for Logan's sensitive hearing, he wouldn't have heard her.

He opened an eye, peered at her, nearly laughed at her attempt at lotus, but focused on her statement. They hadn't really talked about her brother in a while. She'd been tight-lipped about him the full two years she'd been at Xavier's. Sure, Peter would pick her up in Salem Center every other weekend or so, but she'd never really talked about him unless she were angry at something he said or did. She hadn't taken that tone about Peter since the big Russian nearly got Illyana taken away from him by Child Services. The dumbass. If Chuck hadn't intervened telepathically…

"What about him, Half Pint?"

She sighed, finally foregoing the meditation position as she couldn't seem to get her foot to do what she wanted it to. "I'm worried about him." She leaned back on her elbows, flicking grass.

So his Half Pint was worried about her older brother. Maybe he should too. She'd been right about him before. It was more than likely the case now. So Logan'd listen. He was good at that. He'd take everything into consideration and give his Half Pint his advice. Then he'd kick her ass for wasting time 

and make sure she didn't have too many bruises in case she decided to visit her brother over the weekend.

"He's lonely."

Fuck. Logan suddenly did not feel like having this conversation. Peter was a grown man. Sure he'd picked a bitch of woman to marry and father a child with, but it was his choice not to find anyone to fill the void. In fact, Peter usually only got around women when he got tired of using his hand.

These thoughts aside, Logan remained stoic as he sat calmly next to the brooding fifteen year old. "Everybody gets lonely, Yana," he told her.

"Yeah, but he gets weird when he's lonely," she said, leaning back and lacing her hands behind her head. "He goes home with women."

So she knew. The idiot probably told her. He was always too honest for his own good. And Logan did not want to have to explain the birds and the bees to his Half Pint. No way in Hell.

"And he's back drinking again,"

Logan let loose a stream of colorful obscenities, falling out of the meditative position. Illyana arched a delicate brow. He caught his breath and glared at the Russian girl. "Are you sure?"

"I found a half bottle of vodka in the freezer." She gave a nearly imperceptible shrug. "He said it was for cooking. Is there a recipe with vodka in it? I can't think of any that use vodka as a staple. I'm worried. Godspoden Xavier helped one time, but he's not here now, and I don't think Ms. Frost gives a shit."

"Watch yer language, Illyana," Logan groused.

She laughed mirthlessly. "And miss out on using what you just said? No chance in hell."

He made to say something more, but an explosion rocked the area. He swore and hurried back toward the mansion. He yelled for her to stay put.

"Like hell!" she shouted and ran after him.

#

Piotr was blowing his soda-filled nose when his cell phone rang. He caught it up immediately, eager to get away from the three laughing people at his table. "Da?"

"Hiya, Petey." He was surprised to hear Logan's gruff voice on the other end.

Piotr stepped away from the others. "Logan, what-"

"'Fore you ask, Yana's fine," the older mutant growled. "Four day weekend."

"An attack?"

"Somethin' like that. I'm sure Yana'll tell ya all about it." He sounded bored.

Curious as to what had happened, Piotr suggested, "I'll come and get her."

"Nah, Petey," said the other, but static interrupted him. Piotr paced, trying to get good reception. When Logan's voice came back, he was asking, "Ya there, Pete?"

"You broke up, but I can hear you now, Tovarisch."

"I was sayin' I was just callin' to make sure ya cleaned up 'fore we got there. I'm thirty minutes out."

Piotr looked over at Kitty, Mrs. Brogan and David. They were deep in conversation. "But I am not even home."

"Where are ya?"

"Bruckner Boulevard," Piotr told him. Kitty looked up from chatting with the Mrs. Brogan at that moment, their eyes meeting. He relaxed into a smile and was pleased when she returned it. His belly did a curious flip. "I am at lunch with friends."

"That little outdoor diner?"

"Da."

"I'll drop her off there."

The line went dead and Piotr headed back to his seat, flipping the phone closed and tucking it back into his pocket.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Mrs. Brogan asked. She looked concerned. Piotr realized he was frowning. He was not yet ready to face his sister so soon after their fight over his freezer contents. If he allowed himself to go further with that thought, he had also been looking forward to spending more time getting to know Kitty.

He sighed and mustered a smile for his elderly friend and land lady. "My sister will be here shortly. The school is having an unscheduled four day weekend." He looked down at his soda-soaked chicken salad. So much for his lunch. Idly he wondered if the day could get any worse.

"She can drive?" David asked. The waitress appeared and began to collect their plates.

Piotr smiled sheepishly as he gave his saturated dish to her. She gave the plate a disgusted look, but smiled at him anyway. After she left, he answered David's question. "Nyet. Logan is with her."

Kitty made a choking sound. "She goes to the gifted school upstate?"

"Da." He was almost hesitant to tell her. What if she was a Purist? He held his breath, watched her reaction. She blanched, her eyes darting around, almost as if she were looking over her shoulder.

"Logan's dropping your sister off here?"

It wasn't the question he was expecting. Wasn't Logan her friend? "Da."

Kitty clutched her napkin to her chest. "Logan will be here?"

"Da."

"I have to go."

"Da—what?"

Kitty stood abruptly, snagging her purse. "Long story." She dug into the contents and retrieved a twenty. Putting it on the table near her plate, she eyed him. "This should be enough. Call me if I owe you." She looked at both David and Mrs. Brogan, shouldering her purse. "It was nice meeting you, David. I'm so glad you're recovering nicely, Evie."

She stepped away hurriedly, sliding her chair under the table.

"Kitty?" Piotr rose from his chair, started to follow her.

"Call me later, Peter," she gave him a bright smile, hailed a cab. "I'll tell you all about it. I just can't face him right now. Don't tell him I was here, huh?"

"But—"

"Call me." She got into the cab, closed the door before he could reach her. Peter watched as the cabby navigated into traffic and away from him.

David clapped a hand on his back. "You gonna call her?"

"Da."

#

Piotr glowered at his little sister. She stood there in his living room, glaring cobalt daggers back at him, her flaxen brows drawn together. Her arms across her chest, dressed in black and deep purple and a leather collar with spikes. Spikes! Even her delicate wrists were wrapped in leather bands with spikes. Her coal-colored lips pouted. Piotr knew that if she had not been in the awful makeup, she would have withered his defenses, but he stood resolute and stared her down. She was wearing far too much black makeup for his liking and her blonde tresses had streaks of blue and lavender. Blue and lavender! Logan was supposed to be watching her and correcting her! Not watching her dress like a vampire. He wasn't even going to think about the black nail polish or possible piercings. No, no, no! He didn't want to know if his precious baby sister had pierced anything under her clothing.

Though the idea of Kitty with a navel ring was mildly appealing. He nearly lost his ire when that stray thought skittered across his brain. Where the hell did that come from?

"You will apologize to Mrs. Brogan and her son tomorrow," he told Illyana quietly, menacingly. He put as much venom into his voice as he could, his mouth set into a frown. Illyana only looked back at him with contempt. "You were very rude today, Illyana Nikolievna."

"I don't care," she said in a nasty tone.

"Illyana Nikolievna!"

His baby sister's eyes flashed. She wagged a black-nailed finger at him. "Don't raise your voice to me, Piotr Nikoleivitch!"

"I am your older brother," he barked out. "You will do as I say."

She made a short unladylike sound. "You are my older brother. That is all. You are not Papa. Stop trying to be." With that she burst into tears and fled to her room opposite the bathroom, slamming the door with such force that it knocked several of Piotr's paintings off the hallway wall.

Piotr wanted to punch something. He groaned and bit out a slew of Russian foul phrases. From his position he heard Illyana's languished cries. Each sob broke his heart, but he had no idea what to do. For the moment, he chose not to do anything.

His blue gaze locked onto Mikhail lounging in the middle of the living room. She looked back at him, flicked her tail, and looked away. She hadn't jumped up to greet him yet and he found himself feeling slighted. He could use some comfort. He strolled over and looked down at her.

"What no 'hello?'" he asked the small black animal. Mikhail looked up at him and flicked her tail again. Then she got up silently and gracefully walked away, her tail in the air, its tip twitching. He watched her pad her way across the living room and hop up onto her padded shelf-bed attached to the window. She curled up and looked at him and then looked away again.

Piotr narrowed his eyes at the miniscule creature. If she wanted to be that way, fine.

"Every woman in the world has PMS today," he groused aloud and went to the kitchen to make his sister some lunch.

#

(This story has taken on a mind of its own. Still trying to figure out how to get Piotr and Kitty to talk about Anya and get Piotr into Kitty's apartment—there's something important there. Input encouraged. Ask me questions, it gets me thinking!

Mikhail's scene is based on interactions between my cat and me a few days ago. Darn cat.)


	8. No Heroes Here

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Guess what – if Marvel created them, then they belong to Marvel. I created some characters too, but they're expendable…

Okay, this chapter got too long so I've shortened it into manageable sections with much and more tweaking. I also sat down and made a better outline and did research on Jewish mourning traditions. I actually know what's going to happen now! I'm thrilled!

Input greatly appreciated. Poking with a stick helps too.)

#

April 4th – again…

Dear Diary,

Ok, so, I'm back. The lunch I thought went ok? Well, maybe it didn't. Peter hasn't called. I might be jumping the gun because I know from past experience that boy time doesn't equate to girl time. I used to have this silly equation worked out. Four hours equals nine hours and divide it by the street address and cube it--or something like that. I probably have my notes in a box in the attic at Xavier's. Or did before it was rebuilt.

Again.

So I panicked, ok? I have very few memories that aren't clouded by—well, everything. Between Emma and Ogun and the bombings, last year was full. You'd think that after as much counseling that I've had… I don't want to get into that right now.

Gah! I don't know if it was the prospect of meeting his sister and possibly have her hate me or the fact that Logan would be present. Logan. He didn't even sit Shiva with me. I don't want to talk to him, and I don't want to talk about him. I promised Peter I would tell him. What was I thinking?

A full year tomorrow. Yartzeit. Twelve months of loss. I bought the candles today. I even bought one for Michael. Not sure how I feel about that.

My shift at Riff's starts at nine tonight, and I'm meeting with Peter Parker. He said he would stop by. I'm going to ask him about The Bronx. Hopefully he saw something. Now, I get to add another person to the list of people who know about my rotten date with Wally the Worm. Joyous of joy-joys.

I'm never, ever going on a date again.

Ever.

#

Manuel Hernandez was never a patient man. He glanced across the street from where he stood, his dark eyes hooded like a hawk. The apartment building was one of the oldest on the block, but it looked in pretty good shape for its age. Some of its many window shutters were missing and the paint was chipping in places, but all-in-all it didn't look over fifty years old. Several of the lights were still on. He checked his watch, it was only ten thirty. As long as the lights were off on the first three floors, it would be easy to get the job done.

He lit a cigarette, sucking the smoke into his mouth, and then inhaling it into his lungs. The streets were still busy at this time of night, but in a city with over nine million people, it was to be expected. The Bronx held about one million or so of those nine million. Still, it made Manuel a little uneasy. He blew the smoke out of his nose. The job was supposed to be easy. Last night they had ripped off the Old Broad; tonight, though, they would make sure whatever she told the cops wouldn't be traced back to them.

He waited, trying not to look nervous. It wasn't as though he never did this sort of thing before. He just didn't want the cops to show up. They were supposed to stake out the area, make sure the coast was clear before going in. He took another drag of his cigarette.

At least it was Thursday and not Friday. First, he had promised his girl, Teresa, that this Friday, he'd take her to that pizza place she always liked to go to. He wasn't about to get dog house treatment just to off some old witch that got in his way. Second, Friday night was too busy to really do what needed to be done without the complication of someone spotting them. They were casing the joint to make sure everything went smoothly.

After about thirty minutes more, Manuel walked casually to alley on the right side of the apartment building. There Ricky Gonzalez fooled around with the fire escape. He wasn't making much noise, but it was enough to make Manuel more nervous than he was.

"Esé, I don' think that's such a good idea," Manuel told him. "Too much noise."

Ricky looked up at him from under his hoodie. "What if she makes a run for it?" he questioned, but stopped tinkering.

"She won't," Manuel told him. "Just keep an eye out for anyone an' don' make too much noise or draw too much attention about it."

"When's Victor supposed to be here?"

"He'll be here when he gets here," Manuel started to leave. The less Ricky knew the better. Manuel didn't want to have to ice him. He was a good homey. But if he found out that his loyalty was to anyone but himself, Manuel would take him out in an instant. No witnesses meant no jail time.

He walked around the building and checked on everyone else. Carlito Espinosa was in the other alley. He had nothing to report, so Manuel made the full circle to just the left of the building where Juan Garcia lounged on the front steps of the building next door. He pretended to be listening to his MePod. 

From Juan Manuel found out that Juan's older brother Victor would be there around midnight. That way it wouldn't look too suspicious that they were lugging several gallons of gasoline. And the shit was expensive now anyway. Victor had had to get the money from somewhere, and Manuel wasn't about to ask. He didn't want to be targeted by the Brothers Garcia.

It was just before midnight when the Old Broad's lights finally went out. That was the signal. Light the place up and to hell with the consequences. The fire would cover up anything they stole. If it hadn't been for whatever loser had torn out of the area last night with those damned screeching tires and Carlito hadn't freaked, they would have finished the job then.

Now they just had to wait for Victor to show up with the gas.

#

"I'll keep an eye out the next few nights, alright?"

Kitty smiled gratefully at the taller man, her lips parting, exposing pearl white teeth. Peter Parker gave a meek smile in return, his liquid brown eyes soft and reassuring. "Thanks so much, Peter."

He nodded, and made his way away from Kitty, the bar, shouldering his way through crowd, his lips drawn, his eyes flat. It was nice to see her away from class, but he definitely was not coming back here. The first irritant of Riff's on the River—if you excluded the two bouncers ogling him like so much fresh sushi—was the heavy cloud of smoke. It hung heavily in the air, seizing his ability to breath properly, and making his eyes water. The second irritant of Riff's on the River was the loud music. Sure he liked rock and roll as much as the next guy, but, for crying out loud, one of the speakers was as tall as he was and sitting on the bar! The pounding bass of the live band pulsed through his brain and gave him a headache with an attitude.

After hearing how Kitty had met Peter Rasputin, Peter Parker, the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, wanted to choke the life out of the man he knew to be Wallace Corburn. Wally the Worm indeed, he thought, giving a nod to the bouncer—the only other one that wasn't ogling him—at the door. As he left Riff's on the River, the chilly April air hit Parker in the face, his ears still ringing from the raucous music of Deep Shag.

Worried that he missed something while on patrol that night, Peter ducked down the alley and removed his "civilian" clothes, slipping the mask over his face and making sure his web shooters were full and secure on his wrists. He climbed the building and web slung in the direction of The Bronx.

#

Kitty Pryde watched the lean but muscular form of Peter Parker leave. She grinned as she noticed he stayed as far away from Jacques and Raoul as he possibly could. Hell, she would have, too were she in his shoes. Those two were eying him up and down like the fresh catch of the day. Poor Peter, she thought, turning her attention back to the nearest customer, a young-ish looking man with a black 

goatee and no hair. His green eyes were glossy. When he ordered his fifth round she cut him off and called a cab for him.

Four hours later, she had already called six cabs for various different patrons. Rubbing her brow, Kitty wondered why anyone would turn to booze the way these folks did. She was a former X-man and had been through more stuff than most guys could even imagine. Shaking her head, she plastered a smile on her face that she hoped looked genuine and mixed another drink for a man who was obviously going to be taking the busty brunette with him home.

"Kitteness."

Kitty grinned, turned to her boss, Sal Ricci. Bald, tattooed and only five foot two and no more than eighty pounds soaking wet, Sal's voice was soothing, melodic and carried a resonance that bellied her diminutive stature. It also helped that the live band was packing up their equipment having finished up fifteen minutes before.

"Last call?" Kitty asked the shorter woman, a vein of hope laced in her voice.

Throwing her bald tattooed head back, Sal let loose a peal of laughter. "Definitely," she said, her brown eyes shining brightly.

Kitty whooped and let the patrons know that the bar was closing. After the last of the patrons had staggered out and the band had been paid, Sal confronted her. "Look, I can't tell you enough how sorry I am for Wally's behavior."

Biting her lip, Kitty looked away. "It'll be alright, Sal. He was a jerk."

Sal leaned against the bar, studiously ignoring her friend's discomfort. "So tell me again about big, tall and Russian." Kitty's visage brightened considerably. Sal could only grin. She knew there was a silver lining to everything. Sometimes it just took a microscope and pair of tweezers to find it.

"Well," Kitty began, but was interrupted by her cell phone. "Who in the world would be calling me at two a.m.?" she wondered aloud. The number was vaguely familiar. "Hello?"

"Kitty?" Piotr Rasputin's voice asked. "It's late, but I—I am in need of your assistance."

#

(More coming. This was the best place to end it. Tweaking the next part. I'm actually going to go by my notes. Spoon!)


	9. Hero vs Queen of Sheba

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Here's wishing they were mine… some of them are, others – not so much

Much love to the commentators, much love to the readers without the commentary too…

Input needed, wanted, loved and et cetera.

Quick question: What the heck's Illyana's middle name? If I've messed up, let me know… for this story I'm using Nikolievna, since her father's name was Nicholai, and women are essentially owned by the men in Russia—or used to be—and I saw it spelled that way _somewhere_… and that version is likely misspelled...

and chapter 4 has been fixed to describe Sal's new appearance...)

#

Maybe Peter will call in the morning? Or should I call him? God, I feel like a teenager or something.

I cannot believe I listened to Sal—Sal!

Of all people.

Don't get me wrong, I love her to death, but she's fun for going to get tattoos and talking about love interests. Not actual set ups. Her taste in men is completely different from mine. I guess I should thank her for setting me up with Wally the Worm. Hey, after all, I met someone nice for a change. In New York.

Too bad he's just on boy time instead of girl time. Damn him.

#

"Piotr Nikolievitch Rasputin!" Illyana Rasputin glared at her brother, her kohl-ringed baby blue eyes spitting fire at him.

Halting his chopping, looking across the kitchen island at the fiery girl, Piotr said in his native Russian, "But, Snowflake, you will like Katya. She is very sweet."

"Like Tiffani?" his sister asked, sickly sweet. He made a snorting noise and went back to chopping. He regretted introducing Illyana to that control freak. "Or Rebecca? Or Helga? Or Mika? Or Charlene? Or –"

"That is enough, Illyana Nikolievna." Oh, yes, he seriously regretted introducing her all those women—conquests—was the only word he could think of. They had been nothing but bedmates picked at random times, sometimes when he'd been drinking heavily, others because he had simply wanted to draw them, all times to relieve his needs. Being an artist meant he could have as many women convinced to strip for him as he wanted. It continued to amaze him that many women he met jumped at the chance to pose for his sketchbook. Helga, he remembered, had beautiful hands. He had drawn her hands and a few nude poses of her. Her images were in one of his many sketch books. He thought he remembered Rebecca having excellent toes for drawing and had also added her toes and nudity to a sketchbook. He didn't even remember a Mika or Charlene. Over the years, he had forgotten many. It was a good thing. Women were trouble. Using his knife, he began sliding the vegetables into the pot of boiling water on the stove. "Katya is different."

His Gothic sister only arched a delicate brow at him. "How?"

With a shrug, he said simply, "She is my friend."

"Not good in the sack, huh?"

Piotr nearly dropped the chopping block into the stock pot. "Illyana Nikolievna! Watch your mouth!" He put the block in the sink, and added quietly, "Katya and I are not romantically involved. She and I are friends, comrades. Nothing more."

Illyana only sighed dramatically rolling her eyes heavenward as her brother washed up. She regarded his muscled back, watching the annoying way the blue fabric stretched across his broad shoulders. Didn't he know that shirt was too small for him? she wondered, but banished the stray thought almost as soon as it started. Of course he did. Her brother was gorgeous, and he knew it and let everyone else know it too. It was the way he carried himself, the way he dressed, the way he would talk to any woman that attracted him. That's why he got to go home with so many women. At least he hadn't gone home with anyone this weekend. Now that she thought about it, he hadn't done it in a good while. Not that he told her about every one of his conquests, but in the weekends that she visited him in the last three or four months, he hadn't said anything about his latest "date."

"What does this Katya look like?" she asked wondering if her brother had already convinced the woman to pose nude for him. He pointed to a sketch pad on the bar. She opened it to the first page and there in the center of the page stood a sad woman looking as if she were—wet? Illyana made note that it appeared to be raining, and woman's clothes appeared to cling to her. And the hair, though curly, looked matted and stringy. The pained look on the woman's face was heart wrenching. A large hand in the foreground reached out to her. Piotr's hand? It seemed to have his likeness. Her brother's distinct handwriting in the corner said "Distressed Kitten" in Cyrillic letters. The pose was—odd. All his other models had looked happy or at the very least contented to be sketched by him.

Illyana looked questioningly at Piotr, but her brother still had his back turned as he stirred the boiling vegetables. He'd begun to hum softly, ignoring her. She narrowed her eyes, zeroing in on the back of his head.

Catching her reflection in the microwave door, he chuckled. "Your face is going to freeze that way, Snowflake."

She huffed, turned the page and saw a profile of a woman with an aura of curls about her head, her nose upturned, and her chin elfin-like. Assuming it was the same woman, this pose was odd, too. The woman's lips were quirked, and she held a fork in one hand, the other was gesturing, like she was about 

to say something. A bowl of salad rested on the surface in front of her. Illyana had never seen her brother draw such a sketch. It was as though he'd merely caught a moment of the woman's time. The image was labeled "Kitten's lunch" in English.

Another page, another odd pose. This time the woman was asleep on what appeared to be Piotr's couch. She looked peaceful curled under Mama's quilt, her corkscrewed locks spilling out over her delicately drawn hand, over the pillow on which her head rested. Katya was fully clothed. Illyana recognized the letters scrolled across the tee-shirt the image wore as one of Piotr's large shirts. This drawing's label was also in English: "Napping Kitten."

Illyana flipped through the rest of the drawings, dismay growing. Piotr had filled his sketchbook of this woman. Some of the images featured this Katya with self portraits of her brother, of herself, of Mrs. Brogan. The last page caught her completely off guard. Her niece stared back at her, her smiling, cherub face just as the teenager remembered her, Zilya Piotrova Rasputin's large eyes big and bright. Breath catching, heart clenching, Illyana muttered a curse. Katya was holding Piotr's late daughter, both smiling looking straight ahead. An unfinished male head looked over both head's, a partial hand resting on Katya's shoulder. It was drawn in the style of a family portrait.

Disgusted, the young Russian looked up, right into her brother's deep blue eyes. He took the book from her, gazed at the image, his long fingers tracing Zilya's chubby face fondly. "I haven't completed this one yet." Rubbing his eyes with his finger and thumb, he closed the sketchpad one-handedly and sat on a stool facing his sister. "I'm not going to," he told her. She could only glare at him. She knew the meaning of the picture even he refused to acknowledge it.

Perched on his stool, Piotr reached over to the bar and grabbed another sketchpad, slid it across the island to her. When she opened it, she wasn't surprised to find Katya looking back at her, a warm smile on the woman's face. This book only held six drawings, one of which was Illyana in her full Goth attire. She looked ready to take on the world.

"You filled up your sketch book," Illyana said, breaking the silence as she leaned her elbows on the cold steel top of the island.

Piotr only nodded, gave a small shrug. "I told you. She is different."

"And you aren't 'romantically involved?'"

He chuckled mirthlessly, got up and went to the fridge. "No."

"Why not?"

"I like her, Snowflake." He set the raw chicken on the kitchen island.

Illyana watched him as he prepared the chicken to cook. Her brother had had many women, and she was sure it wasn't just for poses. She'd seen some of the more naughty poses he'd done. "Didn't you like the others?"

"They were different." He added cooking oil to his skillet.

"Piotr, that doesn't make any sense."

He only grinned as he added the chicken.

"Why so many, Piotr Nikolievitch?"

The large Russian man didn't know if she were referring to his drawings or to his women. "What do you mean?"

"Katya," she indicated the closed book in front of her with her small hand. "Your sketchbook. Why so many?"

"Katya is temperamental."

Illyana cast a worried look in her brother's direction. "I thought you said she's sweet."

"She is. She has an inner beauty that I cannot capture in my art. It's very illusive. I could probably draw her every day for the rest of my life and never do her justice." Throwing his hands up, he sighed at his loss for words to describe her.

Illyana flipped through the first book, studying the images again. Inner beauty? Must be an artist thing, she thought, and then stated, "You don't have any nude pictures."

Piotr felt himself blush. He bent his head, studied his hands. "I haven't asked her, and I don't plan on asking her."

"Why not?" she inquired, tilting her strangely streaked blonde hair to one side, "You're an artist. You're entitled."

"I'm afraid to ask, Illyana Nikolievna."

She gave an unladylike snort, met his gaze, challenging him. "Chicken."

"Da. I don't want to lose her friendship."

"She's really important to you, da?"

"I've known her less than three days, Illyana," he said, added the cooked chicken to his vegetable broth, added seasoning and a package of egg noodles.

"Usually you've moved on by now." Illyana flounced into the living room, picked up Mikhail who all but wailed her displeasure from being awoken from her nap.

"Would you prefer I went out and found a girlfriend?" he questioned angrily, looking over the bar at her, disliking the way she was holding Mikhail. Mikhail flailed in his sister's arms, meowing loudly. "You're going to get scratched."

Illyana only tightened her grip on her captive. "Why doesn't your damn cat like me?"

"You've stepped on her too many times."

"Would Katya like it?"

"Like what?" Getting stepped on? He tilted his black haired head to the side, his blue eyes searching his sisters' matching ones.

"Finding you a girlfriend," she stated, dropped the cat and bounced onto the couch.

Piotr almost told her that Goths weren't supposed to bounce or flounce or anything of the sort. They were supposed to be depressed and mope around. Instead he told her, "Katya and I are only friends. She has a friend that says she's lonely and sets her up on dates."

"You're lonely, too, Piotr Nikolievitch."

"I am not lonely." He pointed to Mikhail who looked as though she were plotting his sister's demise as they spoke. "I have a cat."

"Piotr!" She looked scandalized. "That's not the same!"

"It is for now." He clicked his tongue and Mikhail sauntered over to him purring, winding her lithe little body and tail around his leg. The big Russian man stroked the cat's back, and she rose to meet him mewling and purring simultaneously.

Illyana harrumphed, crossing her arms, pouting. "I haven't stepped on her that much."

He chuckled. "Sometimes she likes to be held, others not so much."

#

Peter Parker, AKA the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman, swung down to street level searching for the street sign that would tell him where in the Bronx he was. A car alarm was sounding in the distance, but he ignored it for now. Police sirens could be heard just south of him. Or was it north? He'd never actually had to pay attention to where he was going and had already stopped three hoods from burglarizing a home just east of his position—or west, he thought grimly.

Landing gracefully on the top of the sign post, he knew he was hopelessly lost. Hadn't he just seen this street sign? Where the hell was—

"Spiderman!" a dark-skinned youth yelled from below him. The man in question looked down at the boy. He didn't look much older than ten, his baggy clothes effectively hiding him, a black rag over his cornrows.

"That's me," Parker said, glad he was wearing a mask. After all these years of being a web-slinger and the awe in a kid's voice still had him flushing with glee. Of course, he abhorred what he was about to ask the boy standing beneath the sign. Biting his lip, knowing that it had to be done, he asked, "Say, kid, d'you know where Pelham Parkway South is?"

"Nope."

Naturally. Spiderman sighed and tried to rethink his route last night. I've gotta get a GPS system installed in this thing, he thought to himself, referring to his costume.

"Thanks, kid." With that he sprang into the air, activating his web-shooter and attaching webbing to the nearest building. He arched his back and soared into the air, swinging hand over hand like a monkey.

Although the mask of his costume effectively muted out the odors of the city and dulled his hearing, the specialized goggles inside his mask used everything from infrared to night vision. He'd have to see about modifying his goggles with GPS after this little excursion.

Swinging and shooting webbing onto yet another building, Spidey tapped a built in button on his temple. The led light on the inside of his mask blinked the time into his retina. Eleven after midnight. Some people turned into pumpkins at midnight, he thought grimly, but pumpkins made him think of something else and promptly dropped the conversation he was holding with his mind.

Crawling up the side of a building, he wondered if he would even find anything. This was going to take all night. He only hoped nothing big happened before he got there.

#

Piotr's version of chicken noodle soup was crunchy.

Illyana wondered if her brother had taken lessons from Ms. Rogue. That woman was murder on the tongue, and, if the food actually got to point of being swallowed, it was murder on the stomach, too. Thinking about Ms. Rogue only conjured up images of what had happened earlier that day, so Illyana voiced her opinion yet a third time. And for the third time that evening, Piotr leveled her with a steely blue gaze.

"My cooking has improved, little Snowflake," he told her finally, shoving another spoonful into his mouth and chewing. The crunches only caused his sister's flaxen brow to rise in disbelief.

"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of Sheba," she groused, and picked around her half-cooked noodles.

Piotr got up from his stool and bowed eloquently. "Hail to thee, my Queen." Illyana swatted at him, gave a grin that didn't reach her eyes.

"You've lost your mind," she said, then gestured at his sketchbook with a graceful hand and mischievous smile, a look of satisfaction overcoming her expression when he looked away.

He sat down in silence and finished his crunchy soup. Soon afterward they retired to the living room to watch television. After a brief word battle about which movie to watch, Piotr relented and put first Lord of the Rings movie into the DVD player.

When the movie finished, he asked, "What happened at the school today?"

His baby sister's expression immediately closed down. Though he could sense her struggling, she appeared calm. Her trembling hands gave her away. She knotted them in front of her, twisting them pensively.

He forced a calm that he didn't know he had and waited for her answer. Something was wrong. It had taken a few years to draw her out of her self-imposed shell after she had phoned him from Russia when their parents had been killed, their farm destroyed. After child services had taken her away and the professor had intervened, she had come out of that shell, though sporting a new look. Piotr was forced to watch as his beloved sister crawled back into herself.

Illyana hugged her knees to her chest. "The danger room malfunctioned," she replied, but didn't say much else, even after Piotr prodded her. "I'm going to bed," she told him, getting up from the couch. Before he could ask anything further, she was gone, stepping through one of her disks.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he called out after waiting a moment. A thump against her bedroom door told him that she'd thrown her pillow at it. Rolling his azure eyes, he got up and walked down the hall.

He knocked on her door. "Snowflake?"

"I don't want to talk about it," her muffled voice came through the door.

No one wants to talk to me today, he thought, almost banging his head against the door. Aloud he pleaded, "Please?"

He waited, listening. Finally after several full minutes, the door opened a crack. A partial view of his sister's running makeup, her quivering black lips tore at his heart, and the larger Russian moved in an instinctive gesture of comfort, opening the door and enveloping her in a warm hug. Illyana sobbed brokenly into his chest, mumbling incoherently in both Russian and English as tears and black makeup stained her brother's shirt. He comforted her as best he could, not understanding that she had lost someone dear that day.

When most of the mutants had lost their abilities and powers, only weeks before, Illyana's best friend and paramour, Wing, had been one of the students at Xavier's to lose his telekinetic abilities. Wing had been allowed to stay while Dr. McCoy ran the initial tests.

"He committed suicide," she finally choked out, her thoughts jagged and painful. Why had he been so stupid? Dr. McCoy could fix anything given time. Illyana knew that in her heart of hearts, but Wing? Wing hadn't listened.

He suddenly felt ill-equipped to take up the task of comforting his sister. Piotr stroked a hand through his sister's hair. "Who did, Snowflake?"

It was at that point that all Hell broke loose.

#

(bwahahahaha… _ahem_… I mean, stay tuned! My spider sense is tingling, how about yours?)


	10. Hero vs Sensory Deprivation

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel characters not mine… have a few I added myself...

The timeline in the last few chapters has been going back and forth as the perspectives changed –Is it just me or is Chronological Order is ebil? With an unladylike snort, 'To Hell with it,' I say. More experimentation with the view points ahead.

Extra flavoring: I seem to be going through a Spiderman kick. I'm not really a fan of Spidey, but he was a logical addition. Inspired to add him after reading Author376's Stolen Child, which is great with a capital G- R- E- A- T.

As always, input welcomed.)

#

Journal Entry: April 5th

I have found new meaning to the phrase, "Up in smoke." I was under the impression that it was merely a title to a funny movie. There's nothing funny here.

Illyana and I will go back in a few days to see if anything is salvageable. At least it was my home and not my gallery. Homes are replaceable after a fashion. I don't think I would be able to recoup the loss of the gallery. Or my sister.

Katya is religious. Perhaps she will pray to her god for me. Anything will help at this point.

I wonder if she would like to see the gallery.

#

The heat was intense. Orange, red and yellow flames licked at the floors and up the walls. Black clouds billowed forth and up the through the stairwell, choking the life from the old building. Ricky Gonzalez made sure it would burn for a while. He, Carlito and Victor had doused the stairs, the banisters, some of the walls all the way up to the fourth floor while Juan and Manuel had drenched the Old Broad's apartment and the foyer. Manuel had told them to be careful up the stairs. There were still a few lights on past the first and second floors. He was the boss, so Ricky listened to him. He knew Manuel's creed. "No witnesses, no jail time."

Although Manuel had told him not to, Ricky disabled one of the fire escapes. There was no way he was going to jail for this. If everyone died, then nobody would be able to pin it on him. And no one would be the wiser if he grabbed a few things on his way out.

What he hadn't counted on was how fast things would burn. They hadn't stuck around in the last three. Ricky wanted a memento for this one. This one was special.

He also wasn't counting on the flashover.

The superheated gases that had accumulated on the ceiling of the Old Broad's living room and mixed with the accelerant disbursed everywhere, caught fire while he was nosing around effectively trapping him. The only way out was the window and down the sabotaged fire escape.

Should'a lissened'ta Manuel, he thought as the he tried desperately to get the window open. Breaking it, the wind howled in, feeding the now ravenous fire. A deafening explosion, as flammable gases met the greedy, hungry flames, choked him burning his lungs, his face, and his torso. Everything went red and then he nothing more as the powerful blast knocked him back into the wall.

#

Smoke.

White Wolf. No.

No!

Sheer black fright swept through Illyana when the building trembled, blood pounding in her ears. Moments later, the fire alarm sounded in the hallway outside the apartment, the shrill cry of it resounding in her veins.

"Piotr!" The ninja-trained Goth gripped her brother, too petrified to move.

Fire.

Anything but that.

Memories of Russia came back unbidden. The men in black robes who shot Mama and Papa while eleven-year-old Illyana watched from the crack in the cupboard. The smell of gasoline being dumped over their bodies.

Illyana's breathing hitched, her fingers biting into her brother's flesh as she clung to him for support.

No.

More memories. More horror. The red and orange flames licking at her, the black smoke choking her. The miraculous manifestation of her mutant power. Then the bitter cold of the snow and the biting pain from a broken arm when her disk dumped her out six feet above a snow-covered tree stump outside the burning dacha. Her breathing increased, coming in heaving gasps, her vision becoming spotted.

No!

Piotr held his sister as she clutched him, trembling, gasping for air like a fish. Illyana had problems with the open flame of his gas stove. He couldn't imagine how she would handle this. What had his Little Snowflake been through that she would throw out all of Wolverine's training?

He cast his worried gaze about the room, his chest tightening. His blue eyes took in the smoke creeping its way from the entrance of his apartment, clinging to the high ceiling. The door appeared to breathe, piping in more tendrils gray. He was about to lose everything.

No.

Not everything.

The training that had been ingrained into him by Gospodin Xavier, the times he'd used the training to rescue his comrades, the memories came back to him. He had killed someone to save his comrades, to save the world, to save his sister.

He took a soul cleansing breath. The man known as Colossus was dead no more.

Piotr kneeled down in front of his fifteen-year-old sister, taking her rigid hands into his much larger ones. "Breathe, Illyana," he said gently, urgently. She blinked, the cloudiness in her eyes receding, and she tried to regain her composure. "Good. Breathe." The larger Russian breathed with her, hoping it was working.

"Mikhail," she panted and he nodded.

"Get to the fire escape. I'll get Mikhail." He pushed her in the direction knowing that her fear was something she would have to overcome herself.

She was back in his arms a second later, black fingernails digging into his shoulders. "Don't leave me!"

"Get the window open for me," he tried again softly, his brain trying to come up with something that would keep her from panicking. He knew how much she wanted to be an X-man, how much she wanted to save people the way she could not save their parents. Hoping that now was a good time to play the hero card he combed a large hand through her oddly streaked tresses. "Mikhail must be rescued. Help me rescue Mikhail."

She nodded, appearing somewhat calmer than before.

Her shrill scream pierced his soul when an explosion rocked the building, and for the first time in years, Piotr used his powers. It was like flexing a muscle long forgotten, felt an ache he never realized he'd missed. His skin and body mass shifted. His sense of touch, taste and smell were all but gone. It unnerved him when his vision dimmed. It had been far too long since he'd changed to remember the feeling of sensory deprivation. The increase in mass shredded his shirt, his pants as he changed from six foot six and two hundred fifty pounds to seven foot two and five hundred pounds. He ripped the fragments off, foregoing all but his underwear. It was not the first time he was glad he didn't wear tighty-whities, as Illyana called them. The cotton would have ripped, had that been the case. The stretchiness of the Speedeez fabric aided in preserving some modicum of modesty.

If 'modicum of modesty' means: 'a seven-foot-two, heavily-muscled, anatomically-correct, steel-covered man with only a scrap of overstretched black elastic covering his groin and butt.'

#

Muted senses be damned, Spiderman knew smoke when he smelled it. He itched all over as his spider sense kicked in. Eyes darting to and fro, he shot webbing at a greater speed, using all of his enhanced strength to get to where he needed to be. A twenty had convinced a homeless man to direct Spiderman to Pelham Parkway South, and just ahead of the super human sat the building he knew was the home of Kitty's friend.

The last thing he'd expected was to have to rescue people from a fire. Flames engulfed the building quickly. Yellow-gold and orange flames rolled up the sides. He didn't hear any alarms, and there were no people on the street. Without hesitating, Spidey rushed to the top of the building, the only part that wasn't on fire. He threw open the roof's door and stormed in, hitting the fire alarm on the way down and kicking open another door. He found the occupants sleeping and yelled for them to get up. Not waiting for them, he opened their window and told them to take the fire escape.

An explosion rocked the building and, for all his super senses, Spiderman found himself kissing the floor. The two tenants had grabbed their daughter and were headed out the window. Spiderman wrapped them in webbing and yanked them out as he fled to street level. They shrieked in terror.

He was about to shoot another piece of webbing when a glowing disk appeared in front of him. His heart did a flip when three people immerged. Was he going to have to take on bad guys too? Only having a moment to study them, he realized they weren't a threat. A teen-aged girl with streaked hair and black running make-up, a distressed-looking woman in sweats, and a toddler were left in its wake when the disk disappeared.

"Magic, momma," the toddler said, "magic."

"Yes," the woman agreed, put her hand on the teenager's shoulder, tears in her eyes, "that was magic. We never would have gotten out of there alive."

The girl only nodded, looked shaken. "You should get yourselves a safe distance away," she told the woman in a thick accent. Bosnian? Russian? Kazakh? Spiderman wondered. "I do not have a phone to call 911."

"You're going back in there?"

The teen-ager looked up at the building a moment, and seeming to come to a decision. "Da. My brother. He—"

Spiderman didn't hesitate any further and flew into action. He arched his back, toes pointed and landed lightly on the roof. Pushing himself to stand, he thought, "Ooo, shiny."

The shiny turned out to be a man. A big man who was charging full speed at him after having leapt over ten feet from the building next door. The behemoth's chest and powerfully moving legs glinted in the moonlight as all that covered him were a pair of black Speedeez underwear. And then he recognized the behemoth.

"Thought you were dead." Spiderman looked up at the towering X-man formerly known as Colossus—or was it the man named Colossus formerly known as an X-man? he wondered trying to remember the man's real name.

"Pretend I am," Colossus told him, his steely, heavily accented voice biting into the other super human's skull. "Kitty asked you to come." It wasn't a question as he ripped open the door behind the super human and ducked into the building.

What are the odds? Spidey wondered as he charged in behind the glinting metal body. Still, he hadn't seen Colossus in a good ten years, couldn't even remember his real name for that matter. Wasn't during that weird fight with Deadpool that Wolverine had told him Colossus was dead? Maybe to Wolverine thought he was.

"Thieves in the area," Spiderman told the Russian mutant.

"Probably same thieves." He didn't even bother with correct English. He had much more pressing issues to worry about anything but rescue. The much larger man ducked through flames and pried open doors, working fast to get the occupants to safety. Spiderman activated the breathing vent under his mask by pressing a button on his left web shooter and followed Colossus into the stairwell.

A sharp, terrified scream pierced the night, and Spiderman went to work. He'd get answers from the X-man later. Oh, yeah, definitely.

By the time the fire department had the fire controlled enough, Spidey was exhausted, the hair under his mask dripping with perspiration, his costume singed in many places. He was sure he stank, but the breathing vent filtered everything out. His enhanced muscles were reaching their limit, and he still had to get home.

It had taken hours to get the blaze under control. Not everyone in the building had been lucky that night. Death always weighed heavily with him, especially when he felt he could do something about it. Heaving a sigh, he walked over to Colossus and the teen-ager with streaked hair.

Illyana watched Spiderman in awe. He'd really come to their rescue, just like in some of Piotr's stories to her as a child.

"Snowflake," Piotr said in Russian as Spiderman approached, "Mikhail is on the roof in her cage. Our emergency bag is there too." He pointed to the building adjacent theirs. Illyana nodded and called a disk to take her away.

"Where's she going?" Spiderman asked.

The man known as Colossus regarded the shorter man somberly, his organic steel-covered face revealing nothing. "You ask a dead man questions?" he finally inquired in English.

Peter Parker only tilted his head to the side. "Yes?"

A smile, or what looked like one, chipped at Colossus's mouth. He said nothing.

Illyana returned shortly thereafter with a caged yowling cat and small duffle bag. Once a super hero, always a super hero, Spiderman thought, knowing instinctively that the duffle bag had at least one change of clothes, toiletries and some form of identification.

#

(and away we go…

Input welcomed! Yeah, I know I've got some 'splainin' to do. A few more chapters like this and then the 'real' KIOTR starts.)


	11. Hero vs Adversity Revisited

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Much Marvel owning. Not me.

Thanks to those who have been following and giving their input. It's a great help! Thanks to the ones who haven't given input but have been following.

I hope I did enough 'showing' instead of 'telling' in this scene…)

#

I wrote 'Katya' and not 'Kitty'. That is wrong. I should not have given her an affectionate name. Not in Russian. Her name is Katherine. The Russian equivalent is 'Ykaterina.' I probably should not even call her Kitty.

What is wrong with me? I have never been this way with anyone. With Kitty, I do not know if I am coming or going.

'Kitty,' 'Katherine,' 'Ykaterina,' 'Katya.' It makes no difference. I owe her much.

#

The building roared angrily, shook like a leaf from the flashover downstairs. Illyana's mind went blank with fear. It swamped her senses, took her to a place she never wanted to go again. Her scream pierced the small apartment, her throat almost immediately raw from it. Suddenly Piotr was no longer himself, but encased in steel. Her brother, to her, had always been the ultimate knight in shining armor.

His metal hand was cool to the touch as he gently cradled her face. "Illyana."

She had to get her breathing under control. Had to. She would pass out if she didn't.

Calm.

Tranquil.

It was impossible to steady her erratic pulse. Illyana willed herself to remember Wolverine's training, his gruff voice telling her to suck it up, and his proud smile when she succeeded. Damn. Oh. Damn. The spots in front of her eyes were getting annoying. Why this? Why now?

"Illyana Nikolievna." She focused on the size of Piotr's hand. It engulfed her face, but he held her tenderly. He'd always been gentle with her, always treated her like she was a delicate flower, a little treasure that was only his. Even when he had gone into a shell after Zilya had died and become irritatingly grumpy.

One breath and exhale. Another breath and exhale. Piotr couldn't help her breathe anymore. He couldn't in his armored state. She was on her own. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, calmly. Illyana thought back to when they were children and Piotr had transformed to save her from the neighbor's tractor. The thought brought her comfort as Piotr ushered her to the window.

"Little Snowflake." Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She thought back when Uncle Yuri's house caught fire… Fire. Cousin Larisa was in a fire, and Piotr saved her. Thinking of the fire hadn't helped.

Breathe. Find the inner—

Too late, her powers activated of their own accord, and Illyana found herself gasping for air on the other side of the window looking back at her astonished brother. The heavy smell of smoke and the heat the old building radiated surprised her. She didn't know things burned this hot naturally. The chilly April night gave her some respite. A shrill voice deadened her fear entirely. Someone needed help and Wolverine's training finally kicked in.

First Logan's focus and meditation techniques were there calming her, and then his four primary rules came to mind. Rule Number One: Protect yourself. Don't be a liability to your teammates. Rule Number Two: Protect your teammates. Don't let your teammates be your liability. Rule Number Three: Protect those who need protecting. You can tell the ones that don't need protecting by the fact that they are usually the ones trying to kill you. Rule Number Four: Don't take anyone's shit.

"Somebody please help me!" a frightened female voice cried out. Illyana willed herself calm and peered around thinking of her sensei, taking in the smoke and fire infested building. The woman was a flight below her, holding her child to her breast, looking terrified. Smoke billowed out of the window. The young Russian didn't hesitate and surged down the fire escape.

"Come with me," she told the woman when she reached her, grabbing her arm, tugging a little to get the woman's attention. The woman and child were choking on the smoke from their apartment. She appeared disoriented, dirty from the ash, her brown eyes glazed in fear. The child's face was sooty and tear-streaked. Illyana couldn't get through to her and pulled her into a golden portal. Once in the magical place for which the young mutant didn't have a name, the woman looked around, blinking. She gasped. The air was clean and the sky was hued red as three suns set. A unicorn whinnied in the distance and her eyes widened before Illyana activated another disk and pulled her through.

They were outside the burning building on Pelham Parkway, across the street. The toddler at the woman's chest was the first to speak. "Magic."

The woman nodded, her fingers tight around Illyana's arm. "Yes, that was magic. We never would have gotten out alive."

Illyana nodded, told her to get back and call the fire department. The young mutant girl took a step closer to the building. Piotr needed her. She could do this. She took a breath, quelling her fears. Piotr wasn't the only one who needed her, but he took priority in her mind.

Sensing what Illyana was going to do, Piotr's female neighbor balked. "You're going back in there?"

"Da." Illyana's blue eyes shown brightly with determination. "My brother. He's up there." She needed to concentrate, go back in and get him out. Back before the Russian government had declared her brother a traitor to the Nodina for leaving and joining the X-men, she'd witnessed him go into a fire. He had come home for a visit to tell Mama and Papa and Illyana about his life and make wedding arrangements. His steel covered flesh had become too hot to touch, and Papa had to rinse him off with a bucket of water before he could change back. The authorities had taken him to prison before he had had a chance. Illyana didn't know what would happen if his body became superheated like the building. Not wanting to risk the possibility of her brother melting or something equally disastrous, she called on another disk and reappeared back on the fire escape at Piotr's apartment window. The window was opened and smoke billowed out. Everything in the living room was on fire. She called for him, but there was no answer.

Someone else cried out above her. Still worried for her brother, she was relieved when she saw his shiny form leap across alley from the building next door. She went to work doing all she could to help the others in the building. When half of the wall collapsed, she used her disk to teleport it away to the place for which she had no name. That's when the flames became more manageable for the fire department.

She met her brother in the street below.

"Have you seen Mrs. Brogan?" he asked quietly, still in his changeling form. She shook her head in the negative. Her brother was always enigmatic, but in his changeling form, she could not differentiate between any of his expressions or tone of voice. Piotr and the old woman had been close; she had basically adopted him as her son after her husband died, so Illyana assumed he was worried about her. Not for the first time, Illyana regretted having been rude to the woman earlier that day. What if she hadn't gotten out? Before anything more could be said on the subject, Illyana saw Spiderman and Piotr sent her to get Mikhail. Calling a disk, she emerged and snagged the poor animal who was crying with all her might.

"Hush, now, Mikhail, you're safe." Illyana grabbed up Piotr's emergency bag, hoping he remembered to add her clothing to it too, and called another portal.

He took the bag as soon as she arrived and ducked down an alley away from the crowded area, the news van, the fire trucks and ambulances. When he returned a few minutes later, he was fully clothed and looking human, though his features sagged with exhaustion, his blue eyes watching the crowd warily. Illyana's heart clenched. His broad shoulders looked as though they held the weight of the world.

Piotr did not want to risk the news crew getting him in the buff, so had foregone changing underwear. He seriously regretted it as he walked back to Spiderman who was talking with the fireman in charge and his sister. The undergarment was wet and uncomfortable from the hosing he requested of the fire fighters. His steel form had been too hot after searching Mrs. Brogan's apartment. He had brought the body out to them, but did not know whose it was. He hoped by everything he held holy that it was whoever had started the fire and not Evie Brogan. Piotr did not know how he would handle that.

"Piotr Rasputin," he told Spiderman, and they shook hands, Spiderman's tattered gloves rough against the palm of his hand. Both grips were strong, judging each other as only men can do. "I assumed earlier that Kitty sent you."

"She did." Spiderman looked away, at the sixteen body bags lying on the ground nearby. "That body you got from that first apartment. Was that the woman I was supposed to protect?" He sounded far away, more muffled through his mask.

The big Russian man ran a hand through his hair as Illyana grasped his other hand tightly. She looked up at him fearfully. He let out a puff of breath and eyed Spiderman crossly. "I do not know. The body wasn't recognizable." He didn't want to admit he found it in Mrs. Brogan's apartment and that Mrs. Brogan wasn't standing outside with them. He felt the nauseating sinking of dispair. Winding his large arm around his sister's shoulders, he gazed down at her. She should not have to witness anything like this. She had already witnessed much in her young life. "What do you want to do, Snowflake? Find a hotel for the night?"

"Call Kitty," Spiderman said suddenly. "She'll want to know what happened. I'll give her my input in the morning. Her shift should be ending at Riff's right about now."

Piotr nodded, not arguing, dug his secondary phone from the bag, a black knife of jealousy cutting into his belly when Spiderman rattled off Kitty's cell phone number with ease. He wondered if the two were more than friends. It shouldn't have mattered. But it did. He didn't know why. Kitty was his friend. She sent Spiderman to investigate. That alone told him she cared. He refused to dwell on the black shadow shifting around his heart, his mind, and hit the call button on the phone. And he exhaled air he didn't realize he'd been holding when he heard her low, silvery voice.

"Kitty? It's late, but I—I am I need of assistance."

#

(More on the way…)


	12. Enter the Dragon

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel owns their characters, I created some to play with them.

Input welcome. Thanks to those who leave comments and those who don't. Extra cookies for those who do. meh)

#

It was strange: Using my gift for the first time in a long time. I felt useful for the first time in a long time, too. On the other hand, I have failed a friend. She was more than a friend, but my family. I have failed all of my family now. How useful are my gifts if I cannot save those closest to me?

Little Snowflake is not very taken with Kitty, but we have been through much, and I have not made the best decisions regarding her since she came to America. Another failure. Perhaps my sister will warm up to her. They appear to like the same things. Kitty has lost friends just as Illyana has. I hope she will be able to relate to Katya.

I wrote it again. 'Katya.' I hope that I do not slip up and say it aloud and in front of her. She is different from the others, but keeping my distance is best. I do not want to fail her either.

#

"I do not know what to do," Piotr said finally, sounding resigned.

Kitty pressed a hand to her mouth, horrified at what had happened. "I'm sorry, Peter."

She really had liked Evie Brogan. Anger rose and didn't ebb when she thought of hurting those responsible. Even away from the violence of promoting peace, she couldn't get away from it. Humans, mutant and non-mutant, were horrible, aggressive creatures. Xavier was crazy if he thought he change that. She'd left to gain some semblance of normal. But normal? Normal was violence, hatred. She seethed with righteous anger.

"I am, too. I did not mean to trouble you, Kitty. I just needed to talk to someone."

Kitty pulled phone away from her ear, stared at the device like it had sprouted wings and breathed fire.

_Wow._ "And you called me?" Unexpected heat seared her cheeks, and it wasn't from the previous anger.

"Spiderman says that he will talk to you tomorrow. He said you would want to know what is going on." Kitty listened to the accented baritone, letting the rich timbre of his voice wrap her in a warm cocoon. "I am putting off calling David and Logan or Kurt would have cursed at me and hung up before even listening. We don't really know anything at this point to call David anyway. I will let the police handle it for now."

Kitty was silent a minute, taking in the background noise on the other end of the phone. She thought she heard yelling, but wasn't sure. "Peter, do you—do you guys have a place to crash?"

"Crash?" He sounded puzzled. "Oh, you mean sleep? Nyet. No, not yet. I—"

She didn't hesitate. "You guys are crashing at my place then." He started to say something, but she ignored him. "I insist. Trying to get a hotel or something at this time of night is too difficult anyway. We're just closing up here. You know where Riff's is right? You said at lunch you've been here."

There was a pregnant pause. "Yorkville? I don't know, Kitty."

"I'll wait for you. We've got a bit more to go."

He sighed, said something in Russian. A question. A young female voice answered back in Russian. His sister. She didn't sound happy. He posed another question, got an affirmative.

"I have to get a few things for Mikhail," he said finally. "I don't want you to wait at work. I will meet you at your home."

Kitty gave him directions; they said their good-byes and hung up the phone. She sagged against the bar, its coldness soothing against the skin of her back. Where had that come from? What was she thinking inviting a virtual stranger into her home? With his cat and his little sister. Sal usually commented on her telephone calls or at least made some kind of face. She was unusually well-behaved as Kitty had stood rigid and listened to Piotr's story.

"So?" she prodded, crossing her tattooed, muscular arms across her leather-clad chest.

Kitty's frown deepened. "Tall, Dark and Russian is coming home with me tonight."

"Babe, isn't that a good thing?"

"A fire, Sal. He lost everything. If I hadn't asked Spiderman to go out there, who knows what would have happened?" Kitty explained everything. Sal's lined face grew more somber as the story progressed, her thin lips thinning into a straight line, her pierced eyebrows drawing into a frown.

When Kitty finished her story, Sal remarked, "Good thing you and Spiderman are on a first name basis."

Kitty snorted, poured herself a shot of whiskey. "You ain't kiddin'." She sighed, downed it in a gulp. The harsh fluid hit the back of her throat, burning her mouth, and she made a face. It was liquid fire all the way to her belly.

She looked down at her attire, immediately regretting her choice of clothing for tonight. It was okay for her line of work, bartending, dancing on the bar when times called for it. Her skin showed in way too many places, making her feel self-conscious of her body for the first time in years. If Piotr's reaction to body piercing was any indication, Kitty's belly button ring would not go over well when he saw it. Illyana would probably use that against him, and Kitty would get the blame for it. She didn't even want to think about her tattoos. Bad influence. Yeah. Very bad. "I hope I get home before he and his sister get there. What I'm wearing works for drunken bikers and bar dancing, but it does not make for great first impressions for a fifteen-year-old."

Sal looked at her, dark eyes roving over Kitty, taking her in. She'd always been attracted to the younger brunette, but Kitty had made it clear from the get go she didn't swing that way. Tonight, Sal thought she looked delicious. Even the brown corkscrews that framed her elfin face looked yummy. From the dragon tattoo on her upper left arm to the leather, abdomen-baring halter top that exposed the dangling dragon belly ring at her navel and all of her tanned back and the tattoo there to the revealing tight leather pants that laced up on either side baring smooth skin under the laces until they tucked into the Harley Davidson biker boots at mid-calf, Kitty looked every bit a hot biker chick and not the nerdy college student she professed to be. No, not a good impression for a fifteen year old, Sal decided. Good enough to dance on the bar though.

She looked around the bar and noted what still had to be done. "Tell ya what, you're through for tonight. If you need tomorrow off, call me. He's probably gonna need to adjust. Fires are bad news."

"Thanks, Sal, but I'm not gonna do that to you with Ginger being on pregnancy leave."

"Suit yourself, Pretty Kitty," the older woman said, gave a shrug. "Thought I would offer it anyway. Let me know what happens with Tall, Dark and Russian."

Kitty grinned and clocked out, rushing to the nearest subway. It was almost four when she finally got home. Luckily she beat Piotr and Illyana to her apartment by a good twenty minutes as they had to switch trains at four different places compared to her switching only twice.

Lockheed greeted her sleepily, crawling instead of flying to her. He cooed when she picked him up and nuzzled him, happy he was only the size of a large cat.

"Hey you," she said, stroking his scaled chin with her nimble fingers. Even after having him around for ten years, she still marveled over his lavender-hued and mother-of-pearl iridescent scales stippled along his hide in diamond patterns along his back from the top of his horned head to the end of his thick tail. The dragon cooed again, burped smoke.

She smiled, enjoying his idiosyncrasies. "We're going to have company," she told him, licked her lips nervously. Through their psychic connection, she sent images of Piotr, tried not to focus her attention on the tenderness of his blue eyes, or the hard planes of his right hot body. Communicating with images had been difficult to get used to when Lockheed first established the connection because Lockheed couldn't vocalize words in order to express himself. To say that she had been shocked would be an understatement. Her baby dragon was intelligent, not just a pet. Communication was a wonderful bonus to finding him. He was her precious gift and was so glad Professor Xavier had allowed her to keep him.

Lockheed raspberried her. His images to her were of him setting Piotr's hair on fire with his fire breath and the big man running in comic relief around her apartment with Lockheed looking on laughing. She wanted to take back her last kind thought about him.

"Be nice," she admonished, wagging a finger at him and frowning. "No flame blowing."

More images came across, this time of Lockheed setting a book of matches at the big man's feet.

"I mean it, Lockheed. He was in a fire tonight and may have lost a friend. He doesn't have a home to go to."

The purple dragon sent a yellow rose through their connection, his way of apologizing. He flew out of Kitty's arms and perched on the counter in the kitchen. Visions of cookies danced through her head—literally, as Lockheed eyed the Tinkerbell cookie jar on the counter. Laughing, she took off Tink's head and snagged two chocolate chip cookies from the jar's belly. One she munched on, the other she gave to her little dragon. He grabbed it greedily in his tiny claws, stuffed it in his mouth.

"Silly dragon," she accused, amused with his behavior. He gave her a toothy, dragon smile, licking his lips with his forked pink tongue. "I've got to change."

He wanted to know why; an image of a Bamf doll asking why in Kurt Wagner's Germanic-accented voice appeared. Kitty smiled. Lockheed always thought of Nightcrawler as his plush replica. She had no idea why.

"He's not the only one coming," Kitty went down the hall to her bedroom, Lockheed flapping his wings after her. "I want to make a good impression."

Lockheed thought she looked lovely. His thoughts told her so.

She hugged him. "Thanks, Lockheed." She sat on her bed, removed her boots, wrinkling her nose at the odor of her feet. Standing on them for several hours straight didn't make them smell all that great.

"Pppppft," Lockheed agreed as Kitty took off her socks and scratched her toes in the carpet. He went to his basket in the corner of her bedroom, circled one, two, three times, and curled into a ball. He sent images of Kitty sleeping, of Kurt and Logan sleeping, the dragon's way of telling her goodnight. She was glad he no longer sent the images of Pete, Rahne, Betsy, or Meggan.

"Good night, dragon."

Kitty was able to change into sweats and a tee-shirt and wash the subway funk off her hands before Piotr and his sister arrived. She was digging for blankets in the hall closet when the phone rang.

"Miss Pryde?"

She recognized the voice as the building's security guard. She always enjoyed the older man's heavy Brooklyn accent. "Hi, Marv."

"Ma'am, the visitors you said to expect are here, and I went ahead and sent them up."

She thanked him and hung up, scurrying back to the closet, regretting the bad habit of chunking stuff in. And none of the sets for the pull out couch were very masculine. It was one thing for Kurt to give her a hard time when he came for visits, quite another for a stranger to be offended. She hoped Piotr liked her apartment. And his cat and his sister, she added, don't forget about them.

The door chime buzzed and she felt a momentary wave of panic. What if his sister decided she hated her and Piotr agreed? A little voice questioned. She breathed in shallow, quick gasps, reigning herself in, mentally preparing herself to answer the door, willing herself to take a step and then another.

When she opened the door, she was greeted by two wary, blurry-eyed strangers and a wailing cat in a crate. She chastised herself for being silly. These people needed her and a welcoming smile stretched across her face. Kitty refused to pity them. She wouldn't want to be pitied if she were in their shoes.

"Come on in."

#

(More on the way. I hope everyone enjoyed my version of Lockheed. Input welcome.)


	13. Hero vs Desire

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel. They're Marvel's. I just put them in an alternate setting. No badgers harmed during the writing of this scene.

Kiotr ahoy.

My husband refused to beta this before I posted so if you see anything that's just plain _wrong,_ let me know, will ya?

My thanks go out to everyone who has been following. Input always welcome.)

#

April 5th

Dear Diary,

Well, this is it. One whole year. One whole miserable year. How am I going to manage the rest of them?

I've got mixed feelings about having Peter and Illyana in my home today. Pete, Rahne, Betsy and Meggan all gone because some idiot wanted to prove a point and blow up the damn underground transit. I haven't figured out what the point was, yet.

What was I thinking? Why did this happen today of all days?

#

Kitty's world greatly differed from Piotr's. Where Piotr's apartment had been three bedroom, two bath with a spacious living room and kitchen, the Illinois native's apartment was a one bedroom, one bathroom with a tiny kitchen (seriously, only one person could stand in there comfortably), a midsize living room and a small veranda with a view of the building's common area. Where Kitty's tiny apartment held photos of friends and had comfortable furniture, Piotr's had held stark abstract artwork and had sleek contemporary furniture. Even Kitty's towels were plusher than his.

Sitting there on Kitty's fold out couch with his sister fast asleep beside him, Piotr hated the fact that Kitty's apartment building had a security guard and his didn't—hadn't. He and David had been insisting the Brogans' building have a little security for years, but Mrs. Brogan had been adamant in her decision. It was too late to do anything about it now, but it wore on his nerves almost as much as the warring dragon and cat who sat trying to stare each other down.

"Would you two give it a rest?" he asked the two animals impatiently as he dug through his duffle bag in search of comb. He found he'd neglected to put that or an extra shaving kit in. He wasn't surprised that neither of them paid him any attention, only focused on each other, combatants looking for a weak chink in the other's armor. At least Lockheed had stopped blowing fire at poor Mikhail.

Kitty peered over the bar from where she was frying eggs for their "breakfast". "Are they still at it?" The mingling of eggs and toast scents made Piotr's mouth water. He hadn't eaten since yesterday evening. They hadn't gotten settled last night—this morning, Piotr mentally corrected—until five-thirty. Breakfast was served at a quarter till one. Any earlier, he was sure he would wake up a complete bear and, he didn't think Kitty deserved that. Illyana was still sleeping, curled into a tight ball under the plush sunny yellow blankets. Her long lavender and blue streaked blonde hair cascaded all around her, on the pillow, over her face, about her shoulders. He had no intentions of waking her up. She had been through too much.

"Unfortunately," he told the brunette in the kitchen, his eyes sliding to her face, the bemused expression adorning it. A grin slowly formed on his lips as she rounded the bar, and he took in her attire. He had been too tired to really notice last night—this morning, he corrected himself again. Kitty's curly brown tresses framed her heart-shaped face, hit her shoulders and tumbled down her back to her shoulder blades, and she was dressed comfortably in gray sweats and a big light-blue shirt that said _First Love _beneath an NES gaming console. Her womanly curves were well-hidden behind the bulk of her clothing as the shirt looked big enough to fit him. Her slender toes were polished a pink that was reminiscent of Pepto Bismol, and she had a silver toe ring on her right foot that Piotr thought was sexy as hell. Her eyes bothered him though. The whiskey-colored orbs looked hollow, haunted, much like they did when he first met her a few days earlier. He hoped it wasn't because they were troubling her.

Kitty snatched up her dragon and set him on the bar, gave him a chocolate chip cookie from her faerie cookie jar. The creature grabbed the proffered treat and eyed Mikhail as if to say, _Neener, neener._ The cookie was gone in less than five seconds afterwards. Mikhail simply sauntered into Piotr's lap and bumped him in the stomach. He stroked her back as she purred, her tail twitching irritably.

He cast his gaze about the little apartment, eying the picket signs in the corner near a worn desk with papers scattered across it. The foremost sign read, _Registration today. Gas Chambers Tomorrow,_ in red and black lettering_._ Piotr was about to say something when Kitty handed him a plate full of scrambled eggs, four pieces of golden brown toast, and a fork.

"Breakfast in bed," she joked lightly. "Coffee?"

It was a new experience, eating breakfast in a woman's apartment. Piotr didn't really know what to make of it. "Please. Black."

"Scoot over, chair hog." She handed him the cup, taking a seat beside him on the edge of the mattress, plate in hand.

He took a bite of his breakfast and broached the subject of the picket signs. "You are against the Registration Act?"

Kitty nodded, also took a bite and said something he didn't comprehend. He didn't comprehend because as soon as her mouth moved, his gaze was riveted on her lips as she chewed, the way her pink tongue darted out afterwards in search of morsels, and he thought of nothing more than his tongue 

following hers back inside her mouth. He found himself wondering what she tasted like, and his heart did a curious flip. The sound of her silvery, low voice affected him almost as much as her mouth, her tongue, her white teeth, her slender neck as she ate. His instinctive response to her was so powerful it caught him off guard. He was very glad the plate hid his attraction to her especially since the thin cotton sweats he wore helped very little in way of hiding anything. She was killing him. He inhaled her spicy scent and wanted to take her right there as she spoke about American politics.

What the hell? This was _Kitty_. His _friend_. Not some eager bimbo from a bar. He couldn't act this way around her. Piotr blinked a few times, trying to clear his thoughts, desperately trying to listen to what she had to say, and actually _hear_ what it was she was saying. He tried so desperately, in fact, that he completely missed a question.

"What?" he asked, only wanting to know why she'd stopped speaking to him.

Her right eyebrow rose a fraction. "I asked you what you thought about Jacoby's bid for presidency," she told him, then sighed. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

"What—no," he said honestly. She was beautiful and fascinating, enchanting even—a far cry from boring. He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I have been trying to follow what you've been saying for—" He looked at the vintage Star Wars clock on the wall, was dismayed that so much time had passed since she had given him his plate—"a while now, but you are distracting me, eating provocatively."

Kitty blinked, dropped her fork incredulously. She was almost to the point of sputtering incoherently. She couldn't believe he would accuse of her of—Oh, my God. "Provocatively?"

"Yes." He stuffed a forkful of fluffy yellow eggs into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully.

"I don't eat provocatively."

"Katya, I am man," he said, as if he were trying to convince her. "You are a woman. You eat provocatively." His gaze slid to her full lips. "Very provocatively." His voice, accented, deep and sensual, sent a ripple of awareness through her.

She arched an eyebrow, fighting the dynamic vitality he exuded, not knowing with what to be more frustrated: his audacity or her susceptibility. "All women eat provocatively?" Damn chauvinist.

He shook his head, his eyes dark. "No, for some damnable reason, it's just you." He hadn't meant to sound angry, but did anyway. Kitty looked hurt and confused. Not knowing what else to do, he got up and put his plate in the sink. He stood there, his back to her, as water splashed into the sink and over the plate. Running a hand through his black hair, the large Russian man turned to face her, peering over the bar at her as she sat rigidly on her pull out couch, his sister curled next to her. Kitty's pink lips were pulled into a frown, her dainty eyebrows knitting together.

"I did not mean to snap." He gave an apologetic shrug. "Everything is catching up to me."

She gave a short nod. It was understandable. The man had lost his friend and home to a fire. And the big lug didn't seem to know how to handle relationships very well either. Not that they were in one as they both only wanted friendship, but the relationship between Piotr and his sister seemed strained. Inexplicably at that moment the forced memories that Emma had pushed on her surfaced and a cherub face with deep brown eyes and blonde hair appeared in her mind's eye.

She cleared her throat, took a sip of coffee. "Would you mind getting the dishes?"

"My penance?" If he caught her expression, he said nothing about it. He grabbed her plate anyway.

"If you say so. You guys used up all the hot water last night. I call dibs on the shower today."

He snorted. "Now you're being deliberate."

"Pardon?" What the hell is he talking about?

He waved his hand in air as if trying to convey… something. "You. Me. Male, female dynamics." He turned, added soap to the running water, found he couldn't face her questioning odd-colored eyes. "You're being deliberately seductive."

Kitty made a rude noise. "I don't know the first thing about being seductive. I only called dibs on the shower."

"Meaning you are the first of either us to get naked."

She made a choking sound. He peered over his shoulder, a smug grin that was purely male plastered to his face.

"Peter, that's just obscene."

He shrugged, unapologetically, turned back to the dishes. He added the pans and silverware. "Again, I am a man, you are a woman. Men are visual. I'm an artist. I visualize better than most."

"Okay," she said standing. "I don't care how cute you think you are, but I'm going to—go get clean and get ready for the day."

Cute? She thought he was cute? Piotr frowned. He wasn't some cuddly stuffed animal. That irritated him. He stood a good foot taller than she did. It would take two Kitty's standing side by side to take up his muscular frame. He could bench-press a city bus without breaking a sweat (Though he did not take into account that, in his armored state, he couldn't sweat.). He watched her retreat, her hips swaying enticingly and forgot all about being irritated.

#

Kitty walked with stiff dignity to her bedroom to retrieve an outfit to wear for the rest of the afternoon. There was no way after what Piotr had just said that she would walk out of the bathroom in only a towel. Her thoughts lingered on his expression, the one of pained tolerance as he had said_, For some damnable reason, it's just you._

_Just me?_ she wondered, the conversation continuing to plague her thoughts. Provocative? Seductive? The smoldering flame she had seen in the depths of his eyes had startled her. Katya. He had a nickname for her. For a long moment she felt as if she were floating and double checked to see if she had unconsciously activated her power. She sighed and pretended not to be affected by the man. Kitty grabbed undergarments, a pair of jeans and a black tee shirt that fit her better. This one read, _I poke badgers with spoons._ She didn't have to be into Riff's until ten tonight. Only a four hour shift. Thank God. She could just wear this and tell Sal she wouldn't be bar dancing tonight.

The moment she entered the hall her whiskey-colored eyes met crisp blue ones. A new and unexpected warmth surged through her. His compelling eyes riveted her to the spot, and her heart lurched madly in her chest. Then his gaze raked boldly over her, dropping from her eyes to her shoulders to her breasts and downward and her womb clenched.

_Male, female dynamics._ His words came back to her. She frowned, and he had the decency to look sheepish. Her temper flared, and she stormed into the bathroom. So what if he was attracted to her. He was a guest for a few days until he got his shit together and got out. That was it. They were friends. _Friends._ She was strangely flattered by his interest. And irritated, too. Didn't he want to be friends? Hadn't he been hesitant to exchange numbers with her? He needed to make up his damn mind.

She was furious at her vulnerability to him. _Mourning, Pryde, remember? You lost someone you love one year ago today_? She bit back a growl as she looked at her angry face in the mirror. _Yikes. That face would scare anyone away._

So, was he flirting or just being a jerk? This called for a bubble bath. No shower could ease the tension in her shoulders.

#

Piotr wondered what was taking the woman so long. She hadn't taken nearly as long at his apartment. The water had stopped running over twenty minutes ago. He sighed and passed a hand over his face, through his short black hair.

Alarm froze him. What if she'd fallen getting out and had hurt herself? He felt momentary panic and rushed down the hall and threw open the bathroom door. "Kitty?"

Steam rushed out and Kitty shrieked, sloshing water from the tub as she scrunched up under the bubbles of her bath. Only her head and the tops of her knees remained visible above the white foamy suds. She'd been shaving; the image of a long tanned leg extended and the tops of her breasts were firmly planted in his brain that no amount of telepathic blocking could ever hope to rid.

"Peter!" she finally yelled after he did nothing but stare at the bubbles. "What the hell's wrong with you?"

He didn't answer, didn't shut the door, only looked at her enigmatically. A bubble bath. She hadn't fallen and hit her head. She was safe. Tension fled his body and he finally met her eyes. They were like two twin daggers ready to strike.

"You are safe, then?" he asked, his voice giving away his previous fear.

She nodded and added, her eyes narrowing dangerously, "But you're not."

#

(Input welcomed.)


	14. Hero vs Hot Pursuit

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel owns Lockheed, Kitty, Peter and Illyana. I'm just borrowing them. Mikhail the black cat is mine.

Sorry for the wait on these. Writer's block, life, work and an injured hubby took up my time. Second posting - corrected Illyana's roommate.)

#

And he brought his cat. Lockheed would love to get his little claws on her. I should have warned Peter, or something, but how do you tell someone you barely know you found a dragon in space just after losing your virginity because you thought you were going to die? I still miss him. Doug.

I miss Pete too. Hell, I miss everyone who died. Even Jean. But Jean got to come back. Why can't anyone else?

#

Illyana had been wandering the strange forest for hours. She had seen this forest from the distance whenever she teleported through the land for which she had no name, but had never been brave enough to venture away from her disks at any given time. The disks would normally manifest near a lake at the base of some white-topped mountains. Illyana didn't think moving them would be a good idea so she never experimented.

Yet, here she was traversing through the underbrush of the forest, noting the red and brown and violet hues and not green. The underbrush must not have green chlorophyll, she thought to herself, then admonished herself for being a nerd. Still, she had found Dr. McCoy's marine biology course entertaining—field trips meant excursions in the Blackbird to exotic locals to study the microorganisms and local fish and plant life.

The wind overhead brushed the strange poufs of leaves on the towering striped trees. The trees were bare of branches save the very tops where the light green reed-like leaves grew. They reminded her of brown and green striped cotton swabs sticking out of the red, brown and violet underbrush.

"'Curious-er and Curious-er,'" Illyana quoted from one of her favorite books. She looked back over her shoulder, her blue eyes darting around, not able to see the lake or the mountains or the white spiraled castle on the far bank. Something told her to stay as far away from that castle as possible.

The three suns of this strange place were high overhead, casting shadows as the breeze slung around the strange trees branches, and Illyana wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. The thin leather gauntlets she wore scratched her and she took her hand away, looking at the strange crest on the top of her hand. It was pentagram with space for jewels at each of the points. Both gloves she wore had them as well as a pendant on one of the many necklaces that adorned her neck.

Not for the first time, she wondered where her pajamas were. She wasn't naked—pretty damn close, she thought irritably. But what she was wearing wasn't something in which she'd like to be seen in public. The whole ensemble reminded her of "Maureen Birnbaum: Barbarian Swordsperson", or at the very least, He-Man- and She-Ra-esque. Having never worn chainmail before, Illyana had no clue as to how heavy the stuff was until appearing in the realm she had yet to name.

"Who would have thought a chainmail bikini with fuzzy underwear would be so heavy?" she remarked wryly. And a sword! There was a broadsword strapped to her back. This was as they say, 'Far out!' she thought. A few necklaces adorned her slender neck with strange shaped pendants and crystals, and she was wearing a bulky headdress encrusted with jewels and short horns sprouting from the front. The soles of the soft leather boots were thin and she felt everything she on which she walked.

Feet aching and feeling so thirsty, Illyana wished she were back at the lake. At least then it would not have been so bad. The unicorns were usually there, though she hadn't seen them this time. She wondered how she got in the forest when she was sure she had been with Piotr at his new girlfriend's apartment. And try as he might to deny it, Illyana knew that Piotr would make Katya his girlfriend. One didn't take up a whole book just trying to draw a friend.

Soon, Illyana came upon a definite fork in the path. There was a weathered road sign, but she couldn't read it. The letters appeared to be jumbled. There were numbers, Cyrillic and Roman letters in no pattern that she could discern.

"Dreaming?" she wondered for the first time. She tried to recall the final moments before she had fallen asleep but found the only memory was that of the woman in the fire the night before and her child. Illyana had to pause in the place that was nameless to get her bearings straight before calling another disk. The woman and child had seen the unicorns. "You can't read in dreams," Illyana mused and blinked.

The scenery shifted immediately. The ground shook and Illyana lost her footing, plummeting to her hands and knees. The putrid stench of smoke accosted her.

No!

She looked up to see the peaceful forest was suddenly a raging inferno. Everything blazed. The heat was nearly unbearable. Unicorns and small round fuzzy creatures ran past her, fleeing for their lives.

"White Wolf!" she cried…

…and woke up.

Illyana bolted upright as a scream pierced her like flying shrapnel. Not knowing whose it was, hers or an outsider's, she took stock of her strange surroundings. She wasn't in her room that she shared with Laura at the mansion. Nor was she in her room at her brother's place. A purple dragon gazed at her, its eerie yellow eyes blinking at her with its second set of eyelids.

Illyana shoved the too-bright yellow covers off her, ran a hand through her tresses. Mikhail hopped in her lap, bumping against her belly, and she shoved the cat to the floor to inspect herself. She was pleased she was back in her violet Lila Cheney pajamas, but her hands shook with the strangeness of the dream. Mikhail hissed and took a swipe with her claws at the dragon, and then sped down the short hallway towards Piotr, Lockheed in pursuit. There was screaming and splashing and her brother rushed into the open bathroom. He came out momentarily looking very flustered with a towel and very soaked Mikhail.

"What happened?" Illyana asked, scooted away from the edge of the bed.

Mikhail's claws tore deeply into his skin as he tried to dry the wailing cat. He swore loudly in English. Illyana blinked. She had never heard her brother use that word before.

Piotr gave up and put Mikhail into her cage. "Go check on Kitty for me. She fell out of the bathtub."

"Why didn't you—"

"I caught her before she hit the floor," he told her, looked at his hands. "I have already made things awkward between us. Please go check on her, Snowflake."

He continued to stare at his hands in awestruck wonderment eliciting a grumble from Illyana as she wondered how he caught Kitty before she hit the floor.

#

One minute, Kitty was contemplating the finer art of skinning a man alive, the next minute she was swimming with a terrified cat. How and why the damn animal joined her bubble bath eluded her as Kitty surged up out of the bubbles with a startled yell, Mikhail's claws raking deeply into her shoulders, chest and belly.

"Ouch!" She promptly lost whatever rocky balance she had, and, with a squeak of flesh against porcelain and surprised cry, a very naked Kitty Pryde tumbled headfirst out of the bathtub. She didn't even think to phase (a good thing too—the downstairs neighbors would have gotten quite the show!), but a pair of strong arms and hands engulfed her lithe body before she could hit the tile… very hard.

As soon as Piotr grabbed her—his right arm encircling her ribs, coming beneath her breasts, his left hand clutching her indented waist—he lowered her hurriedly to the wet tile as if she'd burned him. He seized his yowling cat from what remained of the bath water and wrapped the poor animal in a towel before dropping another fluffy white towel over Kitty's nude form. Piotr made a beeline for the door mumbling an apology and rounded the corner before Kitty could so much as curse at him or his drenched cat.

So much for a relaxing bubble bath. My boob hurts.

She heaved a sigh and took stock of her injuries. First there was her pride. She just fell out of the stupid bathtub in front of man—albeit a very gorgeous man—after he charged in without knocking. As she lay there on the cold bathroom floor she felt her face heat up. Second Mikhail had scratched her from her shoulder to her collarbone and on the outside of her right breast. The cat had also got her ribs and belly with her hind claws. Third Kitty's knee hurt from where she had banged it on her way out of the tub. Porcelain tubs and knees were not meant to collide.

Her hip and undersides of her breasts still burned from the skin to skin contact with her houseguest. Piotr managed to rescue both "kitties" in mere seconds, but the feel of him on her bare flesh gave her goosebumps. She wondered if it were possible to spontaneously combust from his touch. The man put out a serious amount of body heat. Well, it was that, and she'd rather phase through the floor than face him so embarrassed was she.

Kitty brushed the mass of tangled, wet curls from her face and wrapped the towel around her frame, gasping in pain as she cinched the towel too tightly. Staring in the mirror, she realized that Piotr's cat had done more damage than she realized. Three four inch gashes at her shoulder trickled blood. Opening the towel revealed more, longer scrapes and more blood. An especially wicked and bloody scratch was embedded on the side of her right breast and continued over her ribs five or six inches.

"Damn cat."

"She doesn't like your dragon," Illyana supplied from the door. Kitty jumped involuntarily. Don't Russians knock? Or maybe it was just Rasputins? Her eyes danced across the girl's face. Piotr's sister looked so much younger without all her black makeup.

"Lockheed chased her in here," Illyana continued. "Do you have bandages? Piotr is scratched too."

"Yeah," Kitty said, readjusting the towel with a wince. She located the small first aid kit in a small duffle bag under the sink. "Is the cat alright?"

"She is in her cage." Illyana accepted a box of band-aids and some antiseptic ointment and left. Kitty pulled her hair into a bun on the back of her head and secured it with a scrunchie. It was messy but it got her hair out of the way.

"Katya?" Piotr's big hand came around the corner and knocked, but he didn't show his face. "Are you decent?"

Kitty looked at herself in the mirror. She stood there, still wet from her interrupted bubble bath, wrapped in a large white towel bleeding all over the place. She looked like she had just faced off against some super villain. For the first time in over a year she felt _normal_. It was as though a huge weight had lifted from her shoulders, and she laughed.

"Kitty?"

Still laughing, Kitty told him, "I'm as decent as I'm gonna get right now, Peter."

Piotr entered the bathroom, his gaze wondering over her protectively. "That is a nasty scratch."

"Yours don't look so good either." She pointed at several oozing scrapes on his arms where Mikhail's hind claws had punctured him.

Piotr couldn't help himself. He grinned and raised an eyebrow playfully. "Want to play doctor?"

#

(Desperately seeking input. Again, apologies for my tardiness on getting this out. Hope that was enough animal antics. I don't think either of the heroes can take much more.)


	15. Hero vs Kitty Revisited

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel owns 'em. I'm borrowing.

Ta-da! Another chapter! Whee! Input highly recommended.

Thank you, everyone, for the suggestions and the reviews. Thanks to the ones who follow but don't speak, too.)

#

Peter knows—knew Anya Makarova. The famous ballerina. My idol when I was a kid. God, why didn't I ask him more questions about himself? For being a certifiable genius, I'm not that bright. Is it because I'm physically attracted to the man that I can't think straight around him. That isn't good.

She left him for being a mutant. Can you believe it? What kind of sick monster would leave a man because of that?

#

Piotr gave her a smirk, an eyebrow arching devilishly. "Want to play doctor?" he questioned in a lower, huskier tone.

Kitty shivered and narrowed her whiskey-colored eyes menacingly, and then she laughed, giving him an impish grin. "You wouldn't know what to do with me, if I said, 'yes.'"

"You have a dirty mind, Kitty," he told her playfully, held up a band-aid in his big hand. Irked for no conceivable reason, Kitty snatched the band-aid and marched out of the bathroom careful not to slip on the wet tile.

Piotr blinked as Kitty left in a huff, his playful smile fading. She retreated into her bedroom. She could feel his sharp eyes boring into her as she walked away.

"Kitty?" He followed her and leaned casually against the door frame of her room.

"I've gotta get dressed." She avoided looking at him, instead her odd-colored eyes zeroed in on Lockheed—who clutched a stuffed Gizmo plushy while he nestled in between the pink and lavender pillows on her unmade double bed—the wounds inflicted by Mikhail burning as she frowned down at him. She pointed a finger at the little dragon. "And you, you crazy dragon. Why did you chase the damn cat into the bathroom?" Lockheed burrowed further into the pillows, casting images into her mind, one after another. He hid behind Gizmo when she didn't return any.

She continued her verbal assault, ignoring her dragon's attempts to make amends. "Today of all days, Lockheed. Was it absolutely necessary to pick a fight?" She threw up her hands, rolled her eyes heavenward. "You know what today means to me. You could have at least made an effort to be nice to our houseguests." Kitty frowned, tugging her towel around her before it fell off. She winced. "And their cat. God, Lockheed. Now I have scratches all over my front. You don't have boobs. You have no idea how painful a claw or two to the boob really is." She groaned and caught her towel again.

Piotr regarded her with somber curiosity as she lit into her dragon, doing his best not to stare at her legs, casting an appreciative glance at the backs of her tanned thighs before looking away. Stealing another moment, he watched the way the calf muscles moved beneath the silken, tanned skin as she paced to her dresser, forced his eyes up her curvaceous body to her profile, appreciating her as an artist and as a man. Dark, damp tendrils curled about her face and neck from the messy but amusing bun secured with a neon green fuzzy thing on the back of her head. A small smile lifted the side of his mouth.

The smile faded when he caught sight of the scratches on her shoulder, his throat tightening. Mikhail had done that. Those needed to be treated, but she was still arguing with her dragon. He knew he should wait. In her ardor, Piotr was afraid she would go for the vital parts. The only time that he wanted her to go for his vital parts was when he was on top of her. That thought brought a sudden rush of blood to his groin, and he shifted his position to lean against the wall on the inside of her bedroom, bringing one bare foot up to brace against the wall, lest he embarrass himself in front of her. She suddenly turned on her heel and rushed back to the bathroom in a huff, grabbing her clothing from atop the toilet seat.

"Use your little mind tricks and get that cat to like you," Kitty ordered Lockheed as she came back into her bedroom. Lockheed looked at her questioningly.

Piotr had the decency to stare at the other wall when Kitty shrugged into her panties and blue jeans. He let out a strangled curse when he realized what he was staring at. There on the wall was a framed ballet poster that read "New York City Ballet". It featured none other than his ex-wife, Anya Makarova, in her red "Rubies" costume striking a dramatic pose. Her makeup was stark and striking, her blond hair pulled onto the top of her head and tucked beneath a red crown. She stood on one pointed foot, the other extended over her head, foot pointed, both arms up and out like a bird's wings. He swallowed hard, remembering the feelings of betrayal as she had walked away from him, taking their young daughter away from him.

"Papa," Zilya had cried, her eyes large and full of tears. The divorce papers had been served a few days later, leaving him with nothing but the apartment in the Bronx and half of the profits from his first gallery. Then Zilya had been diagnosed with the Legacy Virus… Piotr squeezed his eyes shut at the memory.

"If you can mind-speak with me in images, Lockheed," Kitty was saying, as she stood in jeans and holding onto a towel, "then you can mind-speak to a stupid cat."

"Mikhail is not stupid," Piotr defended, only to take his mind off the memories that threatened to unman him. He crossed his arms as his eyes caught and held hers. His stomach knotted, and he stiffened under withering glare. Starting a new fight was not what he wanted, but he had no choice if he wanted to avoid his past. And besides, Mikhail was running from _her_ dragon. It wasn't really Mikhail's fault.

Kitty tugged her towel closer and put her hands on her hips. "You aren't helping, Peter. I'm trying to get him to be nice to your damn cat." Her reaction seemed to amuse Piotr, and a flash of humor flickered in his blue eyes. It served only to incense her more. She stormed out of her room and into the kitchen area.

His expression stilled and grew serious. He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the refrigerator, practically boxing her in. The man was all shoulders.

"Relax, Katya."

"Relax?" Frowning heavily, she took her hand out of the cookie jar, a chocolate chip cookie in her nimble fingers.

"Da."

Kitty took a bite of the cookie, biding her time regarding him as she chewed. He only had a few inches to go before his head could touch the incandescent light in the center of the ceiling. "You want me to relax?"

"Da," he told her as he wagged his head in an affirmative and eyed the scrapes on her front, careful not to look at her cleavage. The thin marks still trickled blood onto the white towel, staining the terry cloth with small dots of red. They needed to be bandaged. "What is the American phrase? Take a frozen bath?"

If he weren't so damned cute, she would have punched him into next week. Relax? She was perfectly calm! His attitude of self-command and studied relaxation irked her as he leaned there against her fridge with an obvious monopoly on virility. She felt crowded in the little kitchen with his bulky form taking up most of the space, his body heat penetrating her personal space. Kitty had to fight to remain angry with him.

"I am not going to relax!" She looked at him incredulous as his words sank in. "'Take a Frozen bath?' I've never, ever heard of that one, pal."

"It's 'take a chill-pill,'" Illyana supplied helpfully from her position on the fold out couch. She appeared to be enjoying the exchange between the two adults immensely. Only her brother was dense enough to tell a woman to relax. That was like inciting World War Three.

"Illyana Nikolievna!" the dense one in question scolded, but dropped the subject when she pouted at him. Not having any make-up made her look like the innocent girl he tried so very hard to take care of and protect, and her expression of hurt—her too large, liquid blue eyes, her bottom lip protruding—ate away any defense he could possibly have. Feeling overwhelmed and outmanned—over-womaned, he thought irritated—he met Kitty's brown eyes. "Kitty, you need to relax. Be logical about this, and--"

"Logical?" Kitty's temper flashed, and her nostrils flared with fury. "Logical is ManSpeak for 'Stupidest idea. Ever.'" She made to storm out of the tiny kitchen. It proved difficult when he halted her escape with a firm hand on her arm, urging yet protective. Her skin tingled when he touched her.

"Katya." He cupped her chin tenderly in his warm hand. "You are bleeding. Let me help you?"

She sagged against his hand with a sigh, the fervor of anger leaving just as quickly as it had come. The burning on her chest, breast and ribs increased when he mentioned her injuries. Damn dragon. Damn cat.

"Fine," she said, and he dropped his hand. "I'll get the first aid kit."

Kitty grabbed it and entered the living room. Her eyes that were not so much brown and not so much green searched the small room. Illyana must be bored silly, she thought.

"Wanna watch TV, kid?" she asked. Illyana nodded, eyed Kitty's small collection of videos and chose _Howard the Duck_.

Kitty let the young Russian girl set everything up while Piotr looked over the cat scratches on Kitty's chest above the closed towel. The bleeding had stopped, but the cuts red and swollen. He swabbed them with hydrogen peroxide. They bubbled white and red.

She sucked in air at the irritating tingles of the solution. A suspicious line appeared at the corners of his mouth. Oh, he'd better not be laughing at me. It was all Kitty could do to keep from smacking him. She cast him a scowl.

"You have an impressive temper," he commented, a grin tugging at his lips.

She snorted. "Yeah, well, you're annoying."

He chuckled, a true smile forming, blinding her with its intensity. Determined not to be shaken, Kitty huffed and asked, "So who did you vote for in the recent Senate vote?"

Again a chuckle, this time he added a shake of his head. "You attempt to throw me off with your questions, little one."

"Did you vote?"

"Yes. O'Connor."

"But she's against mutant rights," Kitty protested with a frown.

Piotr shrugged, opened the package to a gauze pad and laid it on his knee. "There are only three hundred of us left, Kitty. I do not understand the difference."

Kitty was silent a moment as he wiped away the peroxide. "Us?" she inquired as he applied antibiotic ointment with a cotton swab. That stung worse than the peroxide. She hissed and leaned away from him.

He sighed and regarded her thoughtfully a moment, lowering the swab. The big Siberian's face was close to her face, his azure eyes full of life, pain and unquenchable warmth. His lips were firm and sensual, and the shadow of a beard against his square jaw gave him an even more manly aura. Kitty had but to lean closer, and she could kiss him. She willed herself to gaze into his troubled eyes. She waited for him to answer.

"I assume that you are a mutant, too," he told her in way of reply. "Since you are a pupil of Logan."

She nodded.

He gestured for her to lean forward again. He was quiet a moment more as he added more ointment. "I am ashamed of my mutation," he admitted finally.

"You shouldn't be," she said. Her fingers brushed his forearm, sending tingles up and down her spine. Piotr shrugged, tried to be indifferent. In reality, relief soared through him. Perhaps she would accept him as no one else had done. So far she hadn't shunned him.

She was curious, seeing the change on his face. She asked, "What's your mutation?"

"He's a mutant," Illyana said, looking up from her program. "What does it matter?"

He groaned. "Snowflake." He taped the gauze to the greasy welts on her chest, his fingers brushing her.

His sister only rolled her eyes at him. "Someone has to take up for you, dummy. Anya was ashamed of you, too."

"Anya?" Kitty blinked.

Illyana was only too happy to share information. Before Piotr could protest, she blurted, "Anya Makarova."

"The Anya Makarova? You know Anya Makarova?" Kitty questioned.

Piotr ducked his head, his face closing down. "Da."

"How--?"

"My ex-wife." He looked away, his blue eyes more troubled than they had been.

"Oh."

He looked back at Kitty, a black eyebrow raised. "You aren't even going to ask?"

"Well, you haven't exactly been forthcoming with information about yourself." She dug through the first aid kit looking for more antibiotic cream for Piotr's cuts. She gesticulated for him to remove his shirt.

He removed his shirt wincingly, the muscles of his chest rippling under his skin. His scratches weren't bleeding, but needed to be cleaned anyway. "That's because you don't let me get a word in edgewise."

Kitty stopped inspecting his wounds. "Now waitaminnit—" Her voice was inflamed and belligerent.

Piotr brushed a finger against her lips, spiders tingling through his arm and down his spine, his body tightening embarrassingly. Ignoring his lust, he carried on the conversation.

"I think I just proved my point, Kitty." His voice was soft, husky. Kitty's heart flip-flopped before settling back down to a more natural rhythm. "I think politics is a safer subject than my past." He scrubbed a big hand over his face, stroked his chin as if he just realized he needed to shave. "I would prefer an argument," he added somewhat sheepishly.

"Well," Kitty murmured, "we could argue about talking about your past then."

He laughed as if sincerely amused. "Or we could do that."

#

(More coming soon. Hope you enjoyed it. Input welcomed and appreciated.)


	16. Is the Hero a Moose or a Bear?

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle

(Characters owned by Marvel. No copyright or trademark infringement intended. Story elements owned by me.

Boredom warning: It's seven pages long with dialogue. It's definitely a comic book story. LOL There wasn't really a clear place to end it properly. Anyway, this should tie up a few loose ends and create a few more.

Input, tips, pointers, suggestions welcomed. Thanks in advance.)

#

Damn Emma. Scott said that she was just as much a victim as me. It was_ her_ powers! And Logan agreed. If she had done it to him, he would have carved her into the little pieces. The hypocrite. He doesn't even remember his past and some of the stuff he remembers is mostly mind-screw material anyway.

I don't remember part of the imagined three years. I remember Wisdom and the loss I felt from waking up from the mind-rape and realizing that, no, Pete hadn't faked his death for MI: 13, and Michael never existed.

At least Ororo took my side. I should probably call her. I haven't talked with her since I was living in Chicago. She doesn't even know I came back to New York.

#

Logan lit his cigar, puffed on it, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, enjoying the kick of nicotine. The wind whipped through the trees bringing the scents of the forest on the Xavier Institute grounds to his hypersensitive sense of smell. He shoved his hands in his pockets and gaze across the Breakstone Lake as he leaned against a tree, taking in the view as the sun dipped on the horizon splashing the blue afternoon sky with a little orange.

Exhaling the smoke, he thought idly about the last few days. Thanks to a jacked up message from the book of a dead fortuneteller, Stormy's team was searching the ends of the earth for Kitty Pryde. She wasn't in Chicago like they thought she was. Thanks to Charlie being so arrogant, the Danger Room malfunctioned and killed a student by not doing anything to save him. Slick and the White Queen were off on a mission to who-knows-where following the damned sentient Danger Room entity. And thanks to Logan's own promise to Petey Pureheart, Logan hadn't gotten to go on either of the missions. By the time he'd gotten back to the mansion from dropping his Half-Pint off with her older brother, the two queens had already left for parts unknown.

The shrill ring of his cell phone hurt his sensitive ears, and he had a good mind to toss it in the lake. Very few people had his number. Chuck, Petey Pureheart, Stormy, Kitty, and Yana were among the few. He took the annoying device out of his breast pocket, looked at the number. It wasn't a number he recognized. He wished it were one of his girls. It would have been nice to talk to one of them.

"Ya better have a good reason," he answered the phone gruffly, "or else."

Kitty Pryde's musical giggles cut across the distance warming his heart significantly, the grouchiness abating immediately. "Hello to you too, Logan," she said.

A grin split Logan's face at the sound of her voice. "Well, I'll be damned."

#

Piotr smiled down at his American friend. "Or we could do that," he agreed. They were almost touching. He had but to lean in properly and take Kitty's lips with his. His pulse quickened at the thought.

Illyana sat up from her position on the fold out couch, her blue eyes narrowing. If Piotr wasn't careful his Katya was going to hurt him. Just like Anya. Anya shouldn't have kept Zilya's illness a secret from him. His ex-wife shouldn't have kept Zilya from him period. "Or you could just tell her about you and all your girlfriends since then, and we could go get a hotel," she suggested disgusted they were sitting so close together.

Piotr looked up sharply, his eyes cold with hurt, his face red with embarrassment. "Illyana!"

Illyana turned her attention back to her program and ignored him. He released a low groan and rubbed a hand over his face. He looked at Kitty.

"I apologize for my sister's rudeness," he said, his eyes sliding to his sister's face and back again to Kitty's eyes. "We are both grateful for your hospitality."

Kitty shrugged, began to clean his scrapes with peroxide, more or less relieved that the desire she had thought she had seen in his eyes had left with his embarrassment. It bothered her that he had kept certain things from her. "That's what friends are for." There was an awkward and pregnant pause. She shouldn't have felt anything if he had a girlfriend. But she did. And it hurt that he hadn't told her. "So. Did you have anywhere else to go?"

"Nyet," he denied, but a pleased smile tugged at his lips. "And, before you ask, I haven't had a girlfriend in about six months."

She found herself grinning, relief twining its way around her heart, relieving a buildup of pressure there. "I wasn't going to ask." That couldn't be jealousy. They were friends. One didn't get jealous of a friend. Besides, he had been reluctant to even begin a friendship with him. She surmised now it was because of his previous marriage.

She finished his chest and looked over his forearms where the cat had dug into him the worst. Clicking her tongue, she dabbed him with a peroxide soaked cotton ball. He cringed and tried to get away from her ministrations. Kitty took a breath. He'd given her information about himself, and, though reluctant, she knew she should return the favor.

"Your cat and my son have almost the same name," she blurted as she grabbed his forearms to keep him still. He ceased struggling at her words. Her faint smile held a touch of sadness when he blinked at her. She was able to add more solution to the cuts, so surprised at her admission was he.

Piotr looked down to find the woman's eyes haunted, hurting, and he instinctively knew that she had lost her son. His chest tightened, remembering the Professor's telephone call telling him of his daughter's diagnosis, and suddenly Piotr wanted to hold Kitty, be held by her. Yet, he kept his distance, the solution burning the cat scratches on his arms. He didn't know what to say. Unfortunately, Illyana said it for him.

"Where's your son?" the teen-ager asked, her tawny eyebrow rising in suspicion.

Kitty stiffened at the question, her lips becoming a thin line, pain etched into her delicate face. She wiped away the bubbling solution before answering, "Technically, he's dead." Piotr felt icy fingers seep into every pore.

"Technically?" Illyana cocked her head to the side, her verbal question replicating his internal query.

Kitty nodded, and the big Russian man winced as she applied antibiotic ointment to a particularly deep cut. "Michael was invented by an enemy and used against me while was my team in Genosha." Her hands shook as she applied a bandage, her anguish almost overcoming her control. "She used my fear of losing my son to use my powers to infiltrate Magneto's stronghold. I ended up freeing what was left of Cassandra Nova's body. Professor Xavier had hidden it in an underground bunker that no one, not even me, was supposed to be able to get into." Kitty gave a choked, desperate laugh. "I have three years of memories of a son that never existed and a husband that never married me. My fiancé, Pete Wisdom, died in the Genoshian subway bombing last year with a few of my teammates. Their bodies weren't even cold yet when the mind-f—" Kitty looked at Illyana before correcting herself, "the psi-attack happened."

Tears threatened to overtake her. Kitty pushed to her feet and padded into the kitchen, started some popcorn. A sensation of desolation and intense sickness swept over her. She took several calming breaths, drawing on the skills she had learned from her possession by Ogun. That fact—possession by a demonic martial arts warlord, not once, but twice—Kitty decided she would take to her grave. No one would know. No one would know about the innocents she murdered during his possession. The loss of Michael and Pete was nothing compared to the knowledge of her complete impotence, that she had no control over her actions.

I'm not gonna puke. I'm not gonna puke. She continued the mantra, listening as the strong masculine voice floated into the kitchen over the music and dialogue emanating from her television set. He wasn't speaking to her, but to his little sister. Though she didn't understand the Russian words, they filtered through her brain, and Kitty took comfort in the rich timbre of his voice. She looked at the brown paper sack sitting on the counter, snatched it up, and took out four of the five candles from within, sitting them on the bar. Maybe she could get through this without losing her sanity after all. Tugging her white towel around her closer, she forced a smile on her face and returned to the living room.

"So, Illyana, you go to Xavier's huh?"

#

David Brogan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He blinked, once, twice, pursed his lips.

"Peter and Illyana Rasputin are the beneficiaries?" When the hell had that happened? He was sure that his mother—

"Yes, sir," the nasally voice sounded from the receiver at his ear.

He groaned and sank into the single chair his hotel room offered. "How am I supposed to rebuild?"

"I'm not sure, sir."

How could Mother do this to him? He made a mental note to call the attorney and make sure she didn't will any of the properties in Kentucky or Texas to the Rasputins. Those oil property overriding interests would come in handy if he couldn't get the insurance money just yet.

"When did Evie Brogan change the policy?"

"March twelfth, sir."

"Of this year?"

"Yes, sir."

How did this get past him? That was only a few weeks ago. Surely, Peter wouldn't have—

"Are you sure it's her signature?"

"We're investigating everything, sir." Well, that wasn't very helpful.

"Keep me posted, will ya?"

"Yes, sir."

David rattled off his number and hung up. He needed the money now. He had so many bills to pay. There was his loan shark, the utilities, those stupid kids, and then there was a race coming up soon. He wanted to put money on that. Just because he was going through a losing streak didn't mean anything. He just needed some money right now. Getting his mother's insurance was the easiest he could think of. He ran a hand through his short brown hair, tugged it lightly. What was he going to do? Damn it, the last time he had checked, _he_ was the beneficiary.

He grabbed the phone book and searched for the fire marshal's number, getting irritated when he couldn't find it fast enough. Giving up, he chucked the large book across the hotel room.

When Peter had called him earlier and told him what had happened, David had tried to remain as calm as possible. Of course, Peter had the bedside manner of a moose. That was just Peter's nature. David had known Peter for ten years now, and Peter had always been direct when it came to anyone's emotions. David figured it was because Peter was Russian.

David dialed information and waited impatiently for the voice to ask what city he wanted to call. "New York, New York. Fire Marshal's Office." Peter had given him the Fire Marshal's name earlier. Of course, he couldn't remember the man's name now. Naturally. David hadn't lived in New York in years, nor had he ever had to make a call to the Fire Marshal. He didn't even know if he should have just asked for the New York City Fire Department.

His thoughts turned back to his friend. As time wore on, Peter had become more aloof, especially after Zilya's death, turning more to alcoholic binges and strange women for comfort. Even Illyana, one of Peter's primary focuses, hadn't been able to get through to him.

David paced the room waiting to be connected with the Fire Marshal. No one questioned Peter on what he was feeling, especially David. Illyana had done it once, and David and his mother had been forced to call child services afterwards. Peter had wrecked his apartment in a drunken rage and scared his thirteen-year-old sister half to death (as well as most of the tenants on the third floor). Peter had paid for the damages, even did the repairs himself. Evie Brogan had taken pity on the man and allowed him to stay, saying that he'd been there so long that Peter was part of the family. David did not however think it was fair that because she considered the Russian a member of the family that Peter and his little sister got David's three million dollar insurance money.

The walls expanded and contracted in minute quivers before David could get his anger under control. He took deep breaths, focusing on the table next to him. The force of his anger arched out, splitting a rift down the center of the table with a sickening crack before David's anger abated.

Finally, David was connected with one of the fire investigators. He sighed, intent on getting all the details of his mother's death he could.

#

Piotr watched Kitty retreat to her kitchen and then looked at his sister, his blue eyes icy. Running a hand through his black hair, he spoke softly to her in Russian. "That wasn't very polite. You should have kept your mouth shut, Snowflake. She's obviously been through a lot."

"How was I supposed to know?" Illyana whispered tersely back to her brother. "I had heard there were problems in Genosha with Storm's team. Why didn't you tell me she's an X-man?" Maybe Katya was ok for her brother after all. She knew that Logan had been trying to get her brother to rejoin since M-Day.

"Do X-men live in apartments in Brooklyn?" he questioned, pulling his shirt on and getting to his feet. "Should I tell her about Zilya?" he wondered out loud.

"Her loss isn't the same as yours, Piotr."

"Illyana, a loss is still a loss," he told her, looking down at his baby sister. "It still hurts, and I haven't had anyone understand that pain before."

Having regained her composure, Kitty walked back into the living room. "So, Illyana, you go to Xavier's, huh?"

"What of it?" Illyana asked haughtily.

Piotr's voice was tight with warning. "Snowflake."

Kitty smiled, all vestiges of her earlier torment gone. "It's okay, Peter." To Illyana, she inquired, "The Professor still away?"

Illyana nodded. "Ms. Frost and Mr. Summers are the headmasters. You went to school there? You're an X-man?"

"I used to be," she told the young Russian. Piotr didn't miss the look on Kitty's face at the mention of the headmasters. "I graduated from Xavier's when it was still called Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. After that I played the American liaison to a British team of super heroes, if you can believe it. I lived there for six years. When they disbanded and the professor went public, Storm, most of the British team and I went to France and set up the X-Corps Paris Headquarters. I've only been in the States a year now." The microwave beeped, and Kitty went about putting the popcorn into three separate bowls. "Your turn."

"I'm an X-man in training," Illyana said proudly, "but Piotr doesn't want me to be. He says that it's too dangerous."

"He's right, y'know," Kitty agreed as she passed out the bowls full of fluffy buttered popped corn. "I had to take a break from all the…excitement."

The young Russian nodded. "Do you know Logan?" She ate a few kernels of popcorn.

"Who doesn't?" Kitty chewed thoughtfully on a handful of her snack, hoping Piotr's sister would drop the subject. Thankfully Piotr spoke and changed the subject for her.

"I think anyone who has lived in Westchester knows Logan," he said, then cleared his throat. "Kitty, you are Jewish. I do not know much about your religion as I was brought up Atheist, but I do know that those candles—" He pointed to the four small glass encased candles on the bar—"are for mourning loved ones lost. Anya lit one for her mother."

Kitty felt her heart sink, suddenly not thankful at the subject change. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding his piercing, knowing gaze. He sighed and pointed to a picture on the wall as he returned to his seat next to his sister. "That picture was taken at Gospodin Xavier's, but I only recognize you. What are their names?"

No answer. He stretched his long legs on the fold out bed, leaned against the back of the couch, the bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap.

"One of them is Ms. Sinclair," his sister said, helpfully, and Kitty's face paled. He gave his sister a warning glare. She quickly went back to watching her movie, stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

"Tell me about your ex," Kitty said suddenly.

Piotr pursed his lips, scowled. "I do not wish to discuss her." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Well, you certainly got cranky, Bear King." Kitty sank onto the couch on the other side of his sister and crossed her legs Indian style. "Rahne was my best friend."

"You weren't at Ms. Sinclair's funeral last year," Illyana accused.

"No," said Kitty, sadly, "I was on a mission in Madripoor with Logan. We couldn't get away in time."

Illyana stiffened. "Logan was with his pet pupil Shadowcat. He told me himself."

Pet pupil? Kitty wondered. What the hell?

"I didn't say Shadowcat wasn't there, now did I?" Kitty suddenly felt defensive. She sighed and ate another handful of popcorn.

The blond with lavender and blue streaks admitted, "Logan wants me to be as good as Shadowcat in martial arts."

Kitty didn't think it was a good idea to let on that the aforementioned Shadowcat was herself. She had no idea why Logan didn't call her by her real name when he referred to her. So she said nothing. Her conscience could go to hell. She trusted Logan's reasoning, whatever that may be.

"How good are you?" she questioned good-naturedly.

"I could kick your ass," Illyana boasted, and Kitty had to bite her tongue.

"Illyana!" Piotr protested, but the brunette threw up her hands, leaning around his sister to meet his gaze.

"It's okay, Peter."

"No, it isn't." Piotr looked at his baby sister, spoke in Russian to her. "Just because I don't have a room to send you to, does not mean that you can act this way. Katya has bent over backwards for both of us. You will show her respect or I will ask Logan to double your training load, and I will ask your teachers to double your class work."

Illyana narrowed her eyes at him angrily.

#

(Hope that clears up some things. Questions, input, etc. more than welcomed.)


	17. Shadowcat

The Warrior with No Name

By the Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel characters belong to Marvel, including the Kingpin—if he's still around.

This chapter wouldn't have happened if not for the help from Author376. THANK YOU SO MUCH! If you haven't already, go check out Author's Stolen Child and its sequel in the X-men: Evolution section under Cartoons.

The next part won't take as long. I'm back on a roll now.

Input welcomed and most definitely encouraged.)

#

David Brogan hung up from his call. He paced, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. There had to be some way to get Rasputin to sign the money over to him. He was an artist for fuck's sake. Not only did Peter own his own gallery, he showcased art in several others. There was no way that David believed the man _wasn't _rich. David's real estate business had taken a turn for the worst last year when he had lost money on an investment of a tourist island. The hurricanes had really messed things over, what with the rebuilding of the hotels and repopulating the island with indigenous plant and animal species. And the advertising costs. That had seriously eaten into his bottom line. It had been an investment gamble; there were ways to profit from his private island, just not right now. _Now_ when he need the money the most.

So he paced, thinking. He had to get the money. Had too. The walls shook as he struggled to contain his power. When he was nervous or agitated, the telekinesis got a little out of hand. He stopped pacing, put out his cigarette with a shaking hand.

David knew the Kingpin would not be pleased that he couldn't get the money in the amount of time he'd promised. They would kill his wife if the money wasn't there. It wasn't like he could just storm the walls and go in and get her. The Kingpin had the biggest crime ring in the world. Not only did the man have most of the mafia under his bulbous thumb, he had the Hand, too. David was only one man, and, though he had substantial physical and telekinetic powers, there would be no way to reach Amelia in time.

Then the thought struck him. David Brogan smiled deviously and searched in the phone book for the number for Riff's on the River. Kitty Pryde would be able to help him out. He was sure of it.

When he finished that phone call, he dialed Peter's cell number.

"Hey, Pete, d'ya think we could go for out for a bit? I really gotta talk man."

#

Kitty chuckled quietly at the interplay between siblings. She'd always wondered what it would be like not to have been an only child. Her years with the X-men and later with Excalibur had given her a wonderful a family when her own had been so rotten. Sadly, her parents had divorced when she was fifteen, her father dying a few years earlier. Not liking the way her thoughts were turning, she listened intently to the conversation at hand.

"But I could," Illyana insisted stubbornly.

"Illyana Nikolievna!" Piotr all but yelled and Illyana backed down, pouting but not saying anything. Her eyes watered, but no tears fell. Her brother didn't think he would be able to take tears and prayed to whatever deity was available no tears would grace his sister's face.

He looked at Kitty sheepishly. "Again, I apologize for my sister's behavior, Katya."

Kitty only laughed, more to keep her thoughts off her awful experience, but enjoying his nickname for her and winked at the man playfully. To Illyana she said, "I might just have to take you up on that one day, kiddo. That might be one interesting sparring match."

The young Russian's visage brightened considerably, and she grinned at her brother, her expression one of exhilaration and triumph. She abruptly turned her attention back to the zany adventures of Howard the Duck. Piotr glanced at both females as if they had sprouted two heads then rolled his eyes.

Kitty grinned and got up from the fold-away bed. "I'm gonna finish patching myself up and get a shirt on."

Piotr sat up rigidly, his expression serious, his eyebrows furrowed. "There are more--?"

"She got me all over." Kitty waved a slender hand across her front indicating her breast and belly. She turned away from them and adjusted her towel so that she could reveal her flat stomach to him without flashing anything less than decent at him. She knew she would die of mortification if that were to happen. When she turned back around again, she allowed him to see the deeper scratches that marred the tanned flesh on her abdomen, the dragon belly ring glinting in the artificial light of the living room and the flashing of the television set.

By the White Wolf.

Piotr's heart turned over, and he couldn't breathe. He didn't know if it was because of the vertical scratches on her tummy or the ring—which he decided right then and there that that tiny ring was the biggest turn on he had ever seen and it would be the object of his fantasies about the petite woman. That ring and feeling her nude body in his arms when he'd caught her only a little while ago as she tumbled headfirst out of her bubble bath would haunt his dreams.

The blue-eyed Russian got up and grabbed the first aid kit. His other hand encircled her slender arm, his fingers clasping gently but possessively around the upper part of her left shoulder completely blocking the dragon tattoo from view. He led her to the bathroom, his warm hand sending electric currents up and down her arm.

"The lighting is better in here," he said, setting the kit on the toilet seat. His strong hands encircled her slim waist and he lifted her to sit on the cabinet by the small sink. She squeaked, startled by his move, but equally in pain as the towel irritated a fresh scratch on her ribs. Piotr only smiled kindly at her. "I should have warned you, da?"

Snapping out of her momentary stupor, Kitty batted his big hands away, lest they lingered too long on her slender waist. "I can handle this one, Peter. I'm fine."

"I make you uncomfortable?" His closeness was overwhelming her.

She sighed, lifted her chin, and answered in a rush of words, "Not so much that as I'm embarrassed. I mean, I'm not—that is, um. No, not uncomfortable. It's just that Mikhail got me in a pretty interesting place. So I'm not uncomfortable with you. Being here. I haven't been around a man in a while." Her brown eyes fell on everything but him, her face heating up. Amused, he held up his hands.

"I will let you handle it, then," he told her. She caught his arm between nimble fingers before he could move away. His belly did a flip wondering if—

"Peter, would it be wrong if I said I was Shadowcat?" she asked hesitantly, her voice had drifted into a hushed whisper, her hand lingering on his muscular forearm.

He hesitated, all amusement leaving his face. He measured her for a moment. "Are you?"

She licked her lips and nodded. Piotr watched her tongue moisten her lips, her face clouded with uneasiness. Kitty was Shadowcat. Logan's Shadowcat.

A fool, he thought suddenly. All thoughts of wanting her went southward as his heart plunged into socks. He was such a fool. This was Logan's love. Illyana had proven his suspicions of Shadowcat, but to know that Kitty was…completely off limits-- The tightness in his chest became a physical pain.

Kitty watched the play of emotions across Piotr's face. "Now you know why I couldn't face Logan at lunch," she told him with a shrug.

"Kitty, you being Shadowcat," he replied, with a little more force than necessary, "and you being his 'pet pupil' as Illyana says, does not explain why you ran away from me—Logan." He slipped and Kitty caught it.

"I wasn't running from you, Peter." She hopped down from the cabinet, snatched up the first aid kit. "I wasn't running at all."

"Keep telling yourself that." His words were harsh, angry even.

She spun around, her eyes dark with anger. "Yeah, I know I owe you an explanation," she spit out tersely," but don't you judge me. Don't you dare. You have no right. Peter, you have no idea what I've been through." Her voice waivered and she turned back around, her fingers gripping the bathroom cabinet, knuckles white. She squeezed her eyes shut.

Piotr hesitated briefly before reaching out and putting a soothing hand on the shoulder that didn't have a bandage. "So talk to me. I will listen. You've obviously been through a great deal. I would like to help you. If you let me. We are friends right? It is how you say, 'what friends are for.'" Kitty looked at him through the bathroom mirror, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. He squeezed her shoulder gently, encouragingly, and she opened her mouth to speak.

"You're Shadowcat?" Illyana asked from the doorway.

Piotr almost told his sister to go away, that Kitty had chosen to speak with him, not her, but had no idea where that thought came from. Jealous of my sister now? He asked himself as he sighed. "Let's let Kitty get herself dressed, and she can explain things to us," he said instead. With that, he guided his sister out of the bathroom and shut the door.

Great, Kitty thought. She groaned and applied salve and bandages to her breast, ribs and belly, cursing the cat the entire time. The petite brunette then threw on her bra and a tee-shirt that read, _I poke badgers with spoons_, and walked back to the living room. Illyana had turned off the television and the couch bed had been made back into a couch. She sat tucked under her brother's arm.

"How about an interesting sparring match?" she asked, challenge in her blue eyes.

"Been a while."

Illyana only smiled and proceeded to order her brother to clear a spot for them.

#

Illyana was giddy. So this was Shadowcat. This was the woman that Logan said could kick his ass two ways from Tuesday. Wow. This was so much cooler than meeting Spiderman.

She had always wondered why Logan had never called his pupil by her real name. Now she thought she knew. Superheroes had secret identities. Kitty was Shadowcat's secret identity. It all made sense now. Sure, she was a little disappointed that Kitty had told Piotr first, but being a hero—a superhero—meant that you couldn't tell everyone who you were. Hopefully, Illyana thought, she would get a codename soon and then she would have a secret identity too.

"You sure you want to do this, kiddo?" Kitty asked, and Illyana bobbed her head eagerly.

She assumed a basic Karate fighting stance. "Can you fight in jeans?" she asked.

"The Enemy doesn't wait for us to get dressed." Kitty assumed an unfamiliar fighting stance, and suddenly Illyana felt more nervous than anxious. It must have shown on her face because Kitty tilted an eyebrow.

"What styles do you know?"

"Karate and Judo."

"That's it?"

"I'm only fifteen."

Kitty snorted. "Nothing like demonic possession to sharpen a girl's ninja skills."

"Huh?"

Kitty didn't answer, her face going blank. Illyana knew before the woman struck that she was in trouble, but the quickness of Shadowcat still caught her off guard. Feet swept out from under her, Illyana landed on her butt with a thump.

"Still think you can kick my ass, kiddo?"

_Well, crap._

#

(The demonic possession sentence was suggested by Author376. Thank you again. More on the way.)


	18. Hero vs Shadowcat

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel owns the characters. I'm just writing a story about them.

Much passing of apologies all around. Some idiot at the cable department decided that it would be a good idea to disconnect the cable from the pole to _my_ house instead of the neighbors who are moving. Grrrr. Boo. Hsss.

Input greatly appreciated, though not required.)

#

"Pun'kin, slow down," Logan said. He turned away from Breakstone Lake, walking a distance then turning sharply to the left and then back again to find a clearer signal. The reception was starting to bother him. He briefly entertained the idea of skipping the phone on the lake's surface like a stone and calling her from the mansion. Better reception all around. Whose idea was it to get a cell phone anyway? He never used it.

It was good to hear her voice. She didn't sound hurt or anything. He wondered where she was and why Ororo hadn't contacted him if she had finally found his pun'kin. He and Kitty hadn't talked since before the girl lit out the X-men's lives full of hurt and anger. He wasn't sure if it was really because of Nova's little mind fuck or Wisdom's death or what Ogun had forced her to do under his control. It might have been all three. In fact, it probably was. A body could only take so much hurt before it started to shut down.

When Kitty mentioned Illyana Rasputin though, he forced himself out of his reverie and listened intently. How in the hell--? "O' course I know Yana," he said, switching the phone to a different ear and heading back towards the mansion, "I promised her brother I'd look after—A fire!? Is she—"

"Fine, Wolvie," Kitty assured him, the line suddenly crystal-clear perfect. He stopped midstride lest he drop the call again. "She's fine. So's Peter. They're staying with me a while."

Well, how about that?

New York. God, she was in New York. How long she'd been there? Why was she there and not in her home town? After they had found the final diary of the future-seeing mutant Destiny, two of the students—two girls, one who called herself Blindfold, the other who called herself Armor—had gotten a hold of it. It mentioned a 'cat of the shadows' several times along with someone called the Darkchilde and someone called the Lightchilde. They didn't think it was very good, so the girls had conspired to find the cat of the shadows and ended up freeing several demons from the portal beyond the lake. That hadn't gone over well. After that little debacle was sorted out and cleaned up, Ororo had taken Armor, Blindfold and a few others in a small team to go and search for Kitty just before M-Day. Unfortunately, Blindfold lost her abilities after M-Day, and they were stuck trying to pinpoint Kitty's last location. The mission thus far had been slow going.

"The fire was on the news," Kitty continued when Logan hadn't been quick enough to pose a question. "Sixteen people lost their lives. All for the thrill of that damn arsonist."

"I didn't think the Bronx fire I saw on the news had to do with Pete or Yana," he said, itching to move from his precarious position as he was standing on one foot, the other poised to take a step. He reigned in his training and stood there perfectly balanced. "So it was the Bronx Serial Arsonist? How many'd that make fer that guy?"

"I don't know," she admitted. "I haven't really been keeping up."

There was a pregnant pause, and Logan, not one to beat around the bush any more than necessary, took the initiative and posed a question.

"You gonna tell me why yer callin', darlin'?"

"I was getting to that," she said, her voice a whisper. "I'd prefer to—oh my God!" Kitty shrieked and the line went dead.

"Kitty?" Logan looked at the phone to verify that the connection was indeed lost. With a something very close to being panic entwining about his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs, freezing his brain, he rushed back to the mansion as fast as his legs would carry him.

Just before he barreled in through the back door, a thought struck him, and he dialed Peter's number continuing on his way to the lower chambers of the mansion. Hell, if Ruskie was staying with her, it couldn't hurt.

#

"Shouldn't you be taking it easy on her, Katya?" Piotr questioned, offered a broad hand to help his sister up off Kitty's living room floor. Kitty cocked her head to the side questioningly. "She's only fifteen."

"Peter," Kitty said, explaining things slowly as though she were talking to someone really slow on the uptake or a small child, "When I was fifteen, I was gallivanting across the time stream, struggling to find my teammates and our way back to earth. Before then as an X-man, with Lockheed's help we took out the Brood Queen's nest and before that when I was thirteen, I single-handedly defended the mansion from an N'garai demon. Oh, and I got possessed by Wolverine's old martial masters when I was fourteen and managed to almost kill Logan—" She frowned deeply—"At fifteen, Illyana should at least know how to block a leg sweep. Don't be so overprotective, Bear King. The only way to learn is to fall on your butt a few times. God knows I did."

Illyana stood without taking her brother's proffered hand and put both small hands on his chest, shoved. Hard. The big doofus didn't budge, only grinned down at her. She glowered at him in return. "I'm fine, Piotr." He sighed and returned to his spot on the floor near the television set. Though he had pushed the couch and end tables to the far side of the room along with several boxes of comic books and Playstation players' guides, he left the small entertainment center alone. It would have been too much trouble to disconnect Kitty's sound system, DVD player, television and five different gaming consoles. Let alone move her collection of science fiction and fantasy films. Her small desk and chair he'd simply picked up and placed on top of the couch.

He sighed and grabbed up his sketchpad and pencils. If he couldn't protect his sister or the beautiful woman tossing her around like a rag doll, at least he could draw them. He resigned himself to observe and draw. Although he detested his sister all but getting beaten up, the big Russian mutant watched with artist eyes, detailing their struggle with only the proficiency of twenty years of experience could give.

"Okay, Kiddo, let's try again," Kitty dropped into _hachiji dachi_—a figure eight _yoi_ position, her arms forward, fists closed, elbows bent slightly preparatory to blocking her face and chest, her feet shoulder-width apart, toes facing forward. Illyana also relaxed into _hachiji dachi_. Kitty bit back a laugh. She looked at Illyana with a critical eye. Either Piotr's sister wasn't taking Logan's training seriously or Logan wasn't taking her training seriously, and Kitty seriously doubted it was the latter.

Woof. That would never do.

"No, not like that." She strode forward, gripped Illyana's forearms and adjusted her upper body into _Naihanchi-dachi_ so that the girl was protecting herself and not leaving herself wide open. Nudging Illyana's feet into a much wider position, she nodded. "Much better." She demonstrated a punch, slowly inching her way towards Illyana's chest with her fist. "Now block." The new defensive pose allowed Illyana to grab Kitty by the wrist and swing her around in a slow but uncompleted throw maneuver. "Good. Again."

Kitty took up _hachiji dachi_ again and Illyana dropped into _Naihanchi-dachi_. They began to circle each other. Kitty allowed the younger girl to strike first, an open-palm strike, but Kitty countered, pivoted and had her on the ground in an Aikido throw before Illyana could so much as blink.

As they went about in several displays of _shotokan_ karate—though Kitty used several other kinds of martial arts, very much impressing Piotr—all of which had Illyana landing in varying positions on the cream-carpeted floor, Piotr took in Kitty's womanly curves, enjoying the way she filled her jeans, the embroidered back pockets accentuating the roundness of her bottom, the bottoms flaring out accentuating the feminine strength of her legs. Piotr no longer viewed her with an artist's perception, but of a man's, and he found himself marveling at the way her breasts jiggled ever so slightly when she moved.

He found himself wanting to be in Illyana's place, a hot longing curling deep in his gut at the thought of being thrown and pulling Kitty down on him, their hips joined perfectly, his mouth hot on hers. He shook his head to clear it, assessed his drawing and felt his face grow warm. On the paper was not the scene before him, but the scene from the bathroom earlier. Kitty, in her naked glory, stretched on her belly on the tile of her tiny bathroom, one leg straight, the other skewed, bent at the knee, her heart-shaped face looking up, surprised etched in the features. Her curly, dark hair was splayed over her back, her shoulders, and the tops of her breasts. He'd captured the scene perfectly. Piotr swallowed, his pulse quickening. He'd drawn her butt.

White Wolf. She's Logan's. He couldn't be drawing Logan's woman naked in his sketchbook, but he loathed to tear out the page and wad it up. For one thing, he didn't want either of the two sparring women to find it. That would be beyond mortification for him. He did not think Kitty would appreciate being drawn so—exposed. Kitty did not wear her emotions for all to see. And he had subjected his sister to enough naked women in this lifetime.

For another, he was an artist. This drawing was of a quality that he hadn't been able to do in years. When Zilya died, his muse had mysteriously vanished. Though he owned his own gallery that he kept stocked with paintings and drawings, the sales had been slowly shrinking over the years.

He sighed. _I finally found my muse and she belongs to someone else._ Irritation flared along with something black and vicious and altogether _mean_ and wound itself tightly around his heart. In a heartbeat the beast was slinking away and in another breath had withdrawn completely.

He found it distressing that had he been a few years younger, he would have acted on his jealousy, his honor be damned. He shook his head to clear it. This was Kitty he was thinking about. His friend. Someone he got on with famously and he wasn't about to screw it up by causing a bigger rift between her and her lover, even if it appeared they were having a tiff. Getting challenged by Logan--or even fighting Logan—for her affections was not on his to-do list.

He concentrated on the sparring sessions between Katya and Snowflake, determined to draw them properly.

"Okay," Kitty said after several bouts, clicked her tongue. She stepped back and assessed Piotr's baby sister with her searching odd-colored eyes. Gold, brown and green reflected in the living room's overhead light. From her position on the floor—flat on her back and breathing heavily—Illyana felt like running and hiding. This was way beyond embarrassing. The pink staining her face was no longer due to being out of breath. "Whatever the hell Logan's been teaching you, it ain't workin. That was the worst punch I've ever seen. Ever. Do you even practice any _kata_?"

"Logan and I practice every chance we get," Illyana said defensively, grabbing Kitty's proffered hand.

"Listen, Padawan, _kata_ and _kumite _are two separate things." She used Illyana's inertia as she hauled her up, pivoted and flipped her back onto her back. Illyana scowled from her new position on the floor, sitting up on her elbows. "And you should've seen that coming from a mile away." Illyana flipped herself up again.

But Kitty shook her head when Illyana positioned herself in a _yoi_ stance. "Haven't had enough of landing on your ass?"

"I can handle it." She frowned.

"Right." Kitty was suddenly on her ass as Piotr swept her feet out from under her using a sweep that Cyclops had taught him long ago.

"Hey! What's the big idea?" Kitty demanded. She looked up him as smile played across his face.

"My turn."

#

(Next chapter forthcoming. BTW-Me no karate. I R a whimp. Hope it was accurate. Wikipedia and few other martial arts sites came into play.)


	19. Hero vs Fire

The Warrior with No Name

By: The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Nope. No owning of characters. Marvel's got 'em.

Ladies and gents and Ratdogs too, I present the sparring scene between Kitty and Piotr. And naturally Illyana has to break out the popcorn.

I look forward to any comments anyone has. Hope the pacing was okay for this chapter.)

#

_Wow. _

_How incredibly stupid…_

It was classic. It was comical even. But not to the two warriors who faced off. Illyana and Lockheed, however, found the entire thing most entertaining. Kitty and Piotr were quite the match. Their positions—the muscular black-haired Russian towering above the slight brunette American—were reversed so suddenly that it was all Illyana could do not to barrel over laughing. She brought her hand up to stifle her giggles, her blue eyes dancing jovially. Even the dragon gave a mirthful dragon's laugh, and with it, Illyana's hand no longer could contain her laughter.

"Piotr," she murmured, half laughing half crying, "you should know better than to challenge a woman's ego."

This was so good that she edged around the combatants to make more popcorn, laughing all the while, the blue eyes that matched her brother's never leaving them for a minute. It was at that moment, Illyana decided that they would make the most perfect couple.

Ever.

She needed a new niece or nephew.

#

_Jerk. Bastard. Asshole. Fuckerhead._

Kitty's outrage made her forget all the generous notions she had been stupid enough to consider in regards to Piotr and his sister. She saw red. And let him know exactly what she thought of him.

When Piotr hit the floor, he hit it so hard that it vibrated. Two hundred and fifty pounds with force made for quite the loud thump. The look of surprise on the big man's face was priceless. Astonished wonder, mixed with awe and a little male ego thrown in. If Kitty hadn't been so furious with him, she would have laughed. She might have even tackled him and kissed him soundly. But she was entirely too mad at him to do much more than shake with a barely controlled rage. She glared at him with burning, reproachful eyes. Yeah, if looks could kill, he'd be sizzling right about now. So much and more "Flame on" and all that.

How dare this idiot. There she'd been trying to give his kid sister a few pointers so Logan wouldn't do too much damage to her, and then whoops, there went Kitty's feet. _Oh, hello, floor, says Kitty's butt, how are we today? Just fine, says the floor, enjoy your stay._

What the hell was going through the big lug's mind anyway?

_Well, duh. Nothing. He's an idiot fuckerhead._

She made a low noise in the back of her throat. "Your turn over so soon?" she goaded through clenched teeth.

Kitty felt an unwelcome surge of excitement as she studied his body. Sure he was big and hot, but she still felt compelled to remain angry with him. Even when the muscles ripping under his tee-shirt sent her pulse racing as he stood in one fluid motion. Even when he stood tall and straight like a towering spruce in her living room. Even when he suddenly looked at her like he wanted her for dinner. _God, give me strength._

"I am a bit rusty," he said, gave a shrug that made his shirt tighten more against his shoulders. Kitty only narrowed her eyes, ignoring the way his eyes boldly admired her, the way his movements superheated her skin, made her feel like melting. She relaxed into a ready position. Oh, he was going down. Damn Commie bastard.

#

_Trouble._

Women were trouble. Kitty was trouble. There was no doubt about that. He was in trouble. He was in way over his head, in more ways than one. His damn sister was laughing at him. She was in trouble, too. He would ground her for the rest of her life when this was over.

Piotr tried to breathe, but the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. His legs hurt, too. Kitty had kicked him mid-thigh, jabbing her heel into the pressure point in his muscle and then with the same foot kicked the back of knees. With her other foot, she had swept his ankles. Rolling out of the way of his tumbling form and to her feet quickly, she awaited his next move, her face thunderous.

As their gazes met, it occurred to him that her eyes were like obsidian, as hot as volcanic rock, the deep centers flecked with rich gold and forest green. He was reminded of the Baikal Mountains in the summertime. He stared. He wanted to paint her, not just a sketch or a drawing, but a larger than life painting, and hang it on a wall above a fire place. Her odd, light-brown eyes darkened with emotion—in this case anger. _Beautiful._

_White Wolf._

He was as the Americans say 'a goner.'

Her eyes blazed with righteous fire, licking at him like the flames in his apartment the night before. He didn't know if he should be afraid or completely turned on. Kitty Pryde and licking, he thought, should not be referenced in the same sentence. _(Or the same paragraph.)_

This was insane. What had he been thinking? He hadn't been in a real fight since just after he had killed Moira's son, Proteus. It weighed heavily that Moira had had to see her son die, perhaps more so now that Piotr had lost his daughter. But that was long ago and though he practiced his katas every night and pumped weights every other day, he felt he was not yet ready to take on a powerful opponent. And that wasn't even the problem. They were only sparring.

The big problem was that he wanted her. He couldn't breathe for the want of her. (He ignored the fact, for now, that he was winded from landing on his back on the floor.) Piotr wanted his mouth on her, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he wanted to take them to the sweet abyss that could only come with sex. And she wasn't even his. They would only be friends. And he knew she wasn't the type to allow only one night. No, she was 'for life' type woman. Someone completely opposite the woman he had ended up marrying. He understood what Kitty had meant when she had left his apartment a few days ago.

_She had inquired almost meekly, "Wanna exchange numbers?"_

"_Just friends, right?" He had been hesitant, fearful of the unknown. What had he really known of this abandoned kitten? Did he really want to start anything with her?_

_She'd been quick to assure him, not telling him of her true relationship with Logan. "Naturally. I've been through too much to really want anything else." She had been quick to add, "Not that I think you'd dump me in the middle of nowhere to fend for myself. I just enjoy talking to you, enjoy your company. Any problem with that?"_

He had been so mesmerized by her eyes, her petite nose, her full lips. Those lips would be the death of him, he was sure. Of course he didn't have any problem with getting to know her. He mentally snorted. Look at him now.

He'd pushed her far too hard. And now she was angry—no, furious—with him. His sister was right. He should have known better than to challenge a woman's ego. Especially this woman. He was playing with fire. Now she probably hated him and was going to kick him and his sister out at any moment. After handing him his balls in a Zip lock baggy.

All this for what? To be close to her? To drive the loneliness away? He had Mikhail. He had Illyana. He didn't need her. She reminded him of what he had, of what he could have again.

Damn it, he should have just asked her to dinner. She'd come to lunch with him. But, no, instead he was laying on his back gaping like a goldfish without a fishbowl. It was like he had this compulsion to bait her, to watch her eyes light up with a fury he'd never seen. He pushed her. To see what she would do, could do. What her capabilities were.

Did Logan see the same thing he did? Did Logan see the fiery woman standing above him? Logan had spoken of Shadowcat with the same reverent tone he used for Jean Grey, the same tone he used for Mariko. He drove the black monster back by taking his thoughts in another direction.

She was so…tiny. Surely he could take her. He was Piotr Nikoleivitch Rasputin, the mighty Colossus. He narrowed his eyes at her. He could take her. Shadowcat and martial arts master-possession be damned.

"Your turn over so soon?" Kitty asked. Piotr took a breath, and then another and slowly stood, dwarfing her.

"I'm a bit rusty," he admitted, proud that his voice didn't sound as unsure as he felt.

Illyana laughed heartily from her cross-legged position on the floor. Lockheed had curled around her shoulders. "You're going to get your ass kicked, big brother."

Piotr looked wounded. "Aren't you supposed to be on my side?"

"You're up against the Shadowcat."

He sighed and jabbed experimentally at Kitty's face. She moved with ease and grace and with a speed that he'd not witnessed since Danger Room practice with Wolverine. She latched on to his wrist, twisted it painfully around and threw him to the ground. Had he not rolled when she'd thrown, Kitty would have dislocated his shoulder.

"And you not even trying is gonna really piss me off," she warned, fire continuing to dance in her eyes.

He couldn't help but grin up at her, amused with how her voice lilted with just enough anger to send a thrill down his spine and into his gut. Wow. He really was insane. It wasn't like he was planning on procreating anymore. But he liked his testicles. Now he just had to figure out a way to save them.

His phone rang, and he mentally thanked every deity he had ever been introduced to, and although she was a mutant and not a goddess, he sent his thanks to Storm too.

"Hey, Pete, d'ya think we could go for out for a bit? I really gotta talk man."

"David?" Piotr sighed. The last twenty-four hours came back to him in a rush.

Lunch with Kitty. Soda in his nose. Kitty leaving in a rush. Illyana's snarky comments to Mrs. Brogan and David. The crunchy soup. Illyana's tears over her lost friend. Changing for the first time since before his divorce. The fire. Saving those who needed it. Naked Kitty.

"Tovarisch," he said, "I am with Illyana and Kitty."

He ran a hand over his face, through his hair, his shoulders sagging. He stepped out onto the veranda, the wind ruffling his hair, stirring his clothing. He gripped the phone with one hand, the banister with the other, looking at the lush common area and aquamarine pool several stories below. At least Brooklyn smelled better than the Bronx.

David laughed, but it sounded…off. "How about a threesome then? My treat. Kitty lives in Brooklyn right? How about Paradise Garden. Dinner. At five. When's Kitty gotta be at work? Does she work tonight? Illyana's out of school. It's Friday. Dinner at five should be alright. Right? Paradise Garden's Russian. It works. Right?"

Piotr had to concentrate on David's monologue, feeling sorry for the man. David sounded desperate. He understood his loss. The body that Piotr had brought out of the fire had not been Mrs. Brogan's. Mrs. Brogan's body was found behind her charred sofa, a bullet in her chest. A cold sweat broke out on his brow at the thought. The woman he'd known for the last ten years was dead. Murdered.

Amelia should have come on this trip. David needed her, needed her like he needed air. Piotr had set them up after he had dated her for—a week? A month? It had been before Zilya died. He could no longer remember. She was a sweet girl. David had been smitten. Giving a sigh, the Russian made up his mind and walked back into Kitty's apartment. "David wants to take us to dinner."

Kitty gave a nod, her eyes still flickering with emotion. Illyana rolled her eyes. Piotr only wagged a thick finger at her. More eye rolling with an added rude gesture. Incensed, Piotr turned back to his conversation lest he begin yelling.

"Five o'clock works, David," he told the younger man who then asked another round of questions that Piotr barely caught he was speaking so quickly. "Tovarisch, I cannot—No, I don't think—That's ridiculous—Why would they—I didn't have anything to do with that fire. They have my number if they have any more questions."

"I'll see you at five o'clock then." David hung up.

"Five o'clock?" Kitty looked at the clock. "I think I'll have just enough time to kick your ass, Bear King."

Piotr felt a smile spread over his face, and he put his phone on the bar.

Kitty and Piotr circled each other, one warrior judging the other, Kitty bouncing on the balls of her feet. Piotr jabbed with his left hand, but Kitty blocked easily and slid into a kick that he just barely deflected. The petite woman went for a leg sweep, but he blocked it. He punched again, bringing his knee up to block a kick aimed at his ribs. She punched, and he went to block, thought better of it and caught her wrist easily. Her hands were small, soft. They grappled momentarily as she fought for control. She kicked again, and he caught her ankle. He smiled, noticing her pink toenails.

Using his superior strength, he pulled her flush against him, her leg tucked at his side, her lithe denim-clad leg bent at the knee, like they were dancing the Tango. His big arms encircled her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders pinning her arms. One of his hands was in the small of her back. Kitty glowered at him. She wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. A smile split his lips, smug and purely male.

He suddenly didn't know what to do with her. His vision tunneled to her, the room becoming hot and stuffy. If he let her go, a smile wouldn't be splitting his lips, her fist would. This kitten had claws. She struggled. He was a glutton for punishment. That had to be it.

"Can't move, little one, da?" The smug smile faded as awareness hit him as she moved in just the right way. His gaze drifted to her lips and back up to her odd-colored eyes. Those eyes that had been so haunted earlier today as they had been when she'd stepped out of that sports car and proceeded to give the man behind the wheel a thorough tongue lashing before he'd driven off in a rage. Those eyes that widened a fraction when she looked searchingly into his eyes.

"No," she whispered, and he didn't blame her. She was pissed at him, and he was proving himself crazy and stupid. For once he wanted to give into the insanity and know if she tasted as good as he thought she might. The feel of her body against his made him remember all that he lost and missed, and he knew she wasn't the type to give into just a fleeting moment. Not with her late fiancé's candle sitting on the bar next to his cell phone.

It nearly undid him when she moistened her lips with her tongue. He stifled a groan, liquid heat igniting his blood. The hand he had at her shoulder, fisted her hair, the silky strands softer than anything he could remember feeling.

"I think the fight is over," he said quietly, but he wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or to Kitty.

And then he dipped his head and kissed her.

#

(Ok… I need suggestions for the next chapter... Input _por favor. _And if anyone is into AU's as much as I am go check out Starsinger's A Whole New World under the X-men Section. Very, very different. Good stuff.)


	20. Hero vs The Judges

The Warrior with No Name

By: The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Still don't own. Well, David's mine, but that really doesn't count. And I think it's really dumb that the X-men only have one jet with so many different teams. Of course I really haven't researched that statement as I've been out of the X-loop. Anyway, I gave 'em a helicopter. Why shouldn't they have one? Everyone needs one. Magneto stole two in the movies. And mine has Shi'ar technology. All Airwolf-y and Blue Thunder-ish. Woo! So much fun to blow up.

Aaaand I have no idea if Forge is still alive in the canon stuff, so I called it even by depowering him. heh. M-day was good for something after all. Serves him right for what his weapon did to Storm waaaay back anyway.

Thanks go to everyone who have been following. Extra cookies go to those who gave me some ideas! Also special thanks to Author376 who gave me a direction to take this.

Here's the kissing scene. Oo Hope it's enjoyable. Input welcomed and appreciated.)

#

Logan opened the hangar door. As it yawned open above him, he climbed into the cockpit of the Blackhawk, a specially modified Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk, flipping various switches. This Hawk was painted black had been modified with Shi'ar technology by Forge before he lost his powers to M-Day. It was undetectable on the radar. He brought the bird online and took her into the air, engaging stealth mode almost immediately.

_Hold on, kid. I'm comin'._

#

Piotr was powerful. He held her small form tightly against him, like he could do anything and get away with it. Kitty was beyond angry. Just you wait, Rasputin. Leaning her head back, she peered up at his handsome face. His smile was wide, his teeth strikingly white against the pale pink of his lips. His blue eyes sparkled with an arrogant mirth that set Kitty's teeth on edge. She seethed with a fury the likes of which very few people had ever seen.

Piotr was laughing at her. Laughing! First the big buffoon knocked her on her ass while she was trying to teach his sister a few pointers, and then he had the audacity to hold her in a way that was not only erotic but effective in keeping her from moving. Her arms were pinned to her sides, her leg tucked against his side under one of his hard, thick arms. His other arm held her pressed against him in a most intimate way. A tight, sensual bear hug from the Bear King. She couldn't even jump and kick him in the vitals. And he was too damn tall to head butt.

"Can't move, little one. Da?" He looked worried. Should she get free—

Furious and never one to back down from a challenge, Kitty was determined to get free of him without using her powers. It would be oh, so simple to phase out of his grip. But where would the satisfaction be? _Oh, no, Bear King, you're going down,_ she thought.

If the bathroom "incident"—it was not so much an accident, now—was any indication, she figured he would let her go when he realized exactly how he was holding her. Didn't he feel anything? Illyana had said that he had had girlfriends. And he'd been so reluctant to even be friends. Now he was holding her like he wanted to forego the friendship and join them together in a primal way. And he was laughing about it!

It was all fun and games until sex got involved. Then someone could lose an eye—or their heart. Well, she'd already lost her heart, please and thank you. Twice. Both were dead. _Three strikes and you're out, _she thought grimly. She narrowed her eyes and struggled against his possessive hold, bouncing slightly on her toes, getting perverse satisfaction when she ground herself against him and he sucked in air, pink tinting his cheeks. Kitty thought he would let her go now. When he did, she was going to kick him in the head. Hard. Yeah. Kick that blush right off his face. Kick him until he saw stars and begged for forgiveness.

Oh, yeah.

But he didn't let go. His grip tightened, and he became serious, no longer smug. Damn him for not looking as flustered as she felt. His breath ruffled her messy hair, fanned her face. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. Those crystal-blue eyes lingered on her mouth and then traced a path up her face to her brown eyes. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. Taking a quick sharp breath, Kitty realized that Piotr was going to kiss her. God help her.

"No," she whispered, to answer his question, to warn him off, to keep her tears at bay. _Any day but today. No. Please, no._

"I think the fight is over," Piotr said his voice a murmur of silken steel, his big square hand fisting the strands of hair that had fallen out of the bun at the back of her head.

She blinked up at him. She wasn't aware she'd wet her lips until his blue eyes zeroed in on her tongue with such longing. Yeah. He was going to kiss her all right. No one, not Doug Ramsey, not Wally the Worm, not even Pete Wisdom—the man for whom she had been willing to go to the ends of the earth, the man she would have married—had ever looked at her like Piotr was looking at her. Like he could see all her desires, all her fears, all of her. Like he could see her for who she was, who she had been, and who she would be. Like he wanted all of her—mind, body and soul. Like she was the most precious thing on earth. Like he would be there forever, if she let him.

It petrified her. The fury she felt fled and she was consumed with fear. Of this man, what he represented. Of her past, her losses. And then she really couldn't move then, even if she wanted to. She couldn't swallow the cold lump in her throat. All she could do was wait and watch. Watch as his head eased closer. Watch as his eyes drifted closed. Watch as his firm lips parted.

His mouth pressed against hers so softly that she knew if he kept it up she would lose control and weep like a baby, weep for all she'd lost and missed, weep for what she could have with this man. Didn't he know what she was going through? He let go of her leg, rubbed her back with both hands, massaging in circles. She wanted to melt. She wanted to cry. She didn't know what she wanted. It was just the gentle assault on her lips and the tender warmth of his hands as his lips feather-touched hers with tantalizing persuasion. She wanted him.

He pulled away slightly, not opening his eyes, and then pressed his lips more firmly to hers, nipped her bottom lip, sending a thrill of sensation through her. All she could think of was his lips and that they were both crazy. This was insane. They were supposed to be friends. He had acted like he didn't want to be anything more. She was supposed to be in mourning. She didn't want to be anything more. He knew…he knew and still he kissed her. Oh, God… she wasn't going to… going to… A tear trickled down her face. She was going to… She was crying.

She could kick him in the head now. She should kick him in the head now, just for making her cry. It would serve the jerk right. But she wouldn't, couldn't… not because of the all the tender kisses he was gently pressing to her lips, her cheek, her nose, the corner of her mouth, her chin, his feather kisses mixing with her tears. The world seemed to drop out from under her. It crashed around her shoulders and the only thing holding her up was Piotr's strong arms.

_God, give me strength._

What was he thinking? What was she thinking?

"_Prastite,_ Ekaterina," he said quietly, kissed her forehead. What did that mean? Like she was supposed to know what that meant. She wasn't Russian. Horror filled his face, blue eyes wide. He wiped tears from her face with the large calloused pad of his thumb. "Katya, I'm so sorry."

Kitty phased right through him, out of his grasp, through the bar and into the kitchen, grabbing Pete's candle as she went.

#

Piotr checked himself before kissing her very hard, like he wanted to. The wariness in her haunted eyes made him think twice, but still he kissed her. What was it about this woman who made him act stupidly, act insanely? This was not him. It couldn't be. His mouth glided over hers sending a shockwave of pure feeling through his body, straight down to his groin. He let go of her leg and massaged her back, pulling her as close to him as he could get. White Wolf. The feel of her. She was so soft, so wonderfully supple. With her breasts pressed against his ribs, his hands on her back, in her hair, he drew back and then kissed her a little firmer, a tender caress, mouth against mouth. If he were to believe in heaven, he knew in his heart that this was as close to it as it came on earth. He planted kisses on her nose, her lips, her chin, her wet cheek.

Wet? Tears. She was crying?

"I'm sorry, Ekaterina," he said as he kissed her brow. And opened his eyes when he realized he'd spoken in Russian and Kitty really did have tears in her eyes. She looked so lost. His heart caught in throat. _What have I done?_ Mentally, he cursed himself in his native tongue and hers. In English he told her, "Katya, I'm so sorry." And meant it.

And then she was gone, walking right through him, taking her warmth with her. Surprised, he was greeted by a leering grin from Illyana. He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He'd never kissed any woman other than Anya in front of her before. Before she could give him any lip, he spun around and looked right into Kitty's haunted odd-colored eyes, gold and green reflecting in the overhead light. The fringe of her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, made her eyes look hollow. She held one of the candles. He closed his eyes, his blush fading. She juggled the candle in her hands before striking a match and lighting all four candles. She said something in Hebrew, tears welling up in her eyes, flowing freely down her face now.

Piotr clasp his large hand on her shoulder. "Kitty, I—"

"I have to get ready. Don't wanna be late." She wiped at her tears, obviously embarrassed at showing such emotion in front of him. Then she smiled brightly at him, batting away his hand. "We need to work on your technique a little." And she flushed bright red, her eyes darting to the Cat's Laughing refrigerator magnet with a tiny picture of her and a woman with green hair. They were waving at the camera and standing in front of an Egyptian sphinx. "I mean, your Karate needs work. I was just taking it easy on you." She flushed more and then she was gone again, walking through the wall, disappearing from sight. Down the hall, her bedroom door closed.

"And I thought the Russian judge was supposed to be harsh," Illyana quipped with a wry grin.

A cold, congested expression took over his face as he leveled an angry glare at her. His baby sister's toothy grin only widened. "What? Your dismount was terrible!"

#

The drive to Paradise Garden in Kitty's Beetle was cramped. Piotr was practically breathing through his knees even with the seat all the way back and all the way to the floor, and Illyana was beginning to think that Kitty turned right corners purposely so that when the inertia forced Illyana's head to keep going, it would hit the low ceiling. Even the bumps—Illyana's head hit the black plastic with a solid _thunk!_

Piotr was quiet, wondering what to say to the woman sitting next to him besides asking her to slow down. She was driving like a bat out of hell. If they got into a wreck, his armored form would protect him, her wraith-like form would protect her, but nothing could protect Illyana. He cast a glance back at his sister who was rubbing her head irritably, having just hit her head again.

"D'ya think you could slow it down a bit?" she asked. "Your car keeps attacking me."

"Hm? Oh, sorry, kiddo." Kitty slowed down considerably.

When she finally found a place to park, Piotr was the first out of the car. He jogged around and helped Kitty out and then his sister who grumbled that he could have let her out on his side.

"With this traffic?" He shook his head, still regretting the decision to go to dinner at five o'clock. In New York City. What was he thinking?

Kitty. He'd been focused on Kitty. He was still focused on Kitty, and took her hand in his as they walked into the restaurant.

#

"Logan, are you sure?" Her voice sounded tinny in the headsets, not like herself at all.

Logan was pretty sure he was yelling. The headsets pretty much drowned out everything in the cockpit. "Would I be breakin' your self-imposed radio silence, Roro?"

"I suppose not."

"When can ya get here?"

"At the least eight hours, my friend."

Logan almost spit out his cigar. "Where the hell—?" Wasn't she supposed to be in Chicago?

"It is a long story. Twas one of Blindfold's final visions about the Lightchilde before M-Day. We thought it best to investigate."

Logan grumbled obscenities, and Ororo, the mutant weather-manipulating witch, the X-men leader of Alpha Squadron, laughed, clearly amused with the feral man.

"Get back when you can," he told her and reached over to turn the knob to the radio back to the weather.

It was at that moment that the back rotor of the Blackhawk came through the cockpit. Wolverine howled as the alarms went off sending up sparks from all directions and the nearest building seemed to reach out and claim him. The last thing that Logan knew was incredible pain. And then darkness.

#

(Input welcomed. To be continued. I would like to announce that this is officially the longest story I have ever written. Someone be proud of me. Over 42 thousand words, not including author notes, if Word is to be believed. My other current, non-fanfiction, work is at 33 thousand--and I've been working on it for eight months. Go figure.)


	21. Hero vs Choices

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(These are Marvel's characters. No claiming of ownership by me. I made up David. No relation to David Haller or Elias Bogan. I actually didn't know about Elias until after I'd written the first five chapters. I should also point out that, though it does exist in real life, I've never been to the restaurant in this chapter. The website makes it look fun, though.

As I'm sure everyone who has read to this point realizes/knows/etc., I am not a fan of chronological order. So don't expect it in this chapter or the upcoming ones.

Much love given to my dearest husband—who felt very put out by my not mentioning him last chapter—and, though he did not beta the last chapter until this evening (which I will remind him defeats the purpose of a beta), I love him anyway. He's been putting up with my crap for the last six years, and he doesn't raise (too much of) a stink when I burn food.

Input welcomed, but not necessary.)

#

Darkness: An impenetrable blackness. And pain—too much pain. The pungent smell of smoke assailed the senses. Soon the blackness became purple. Beyond the purple she was aware of wind in her hair, on her face, but nowhere else. In fact she was quite cozy and warm, tucked into her own personal cocoon. The purple slowly lightened into indigo, and finally indigo blanched into…

_Did that eighteen wheeler have a license plate number?_

Kitty blinked, her vision blurred. The sounds of the city assaulted her ears in roaring percussion of, well, noise. Cars rushed and honked; an ambulance wailed by. Some where there was a jackhammer going. She wondered idly if it were digging a hole in her skull. The pounding ache didn't dull as harsh wind whipped at her hair making her… rock? She felt nauseous, beyond it, in fact as the wind continued its assault, carrying her body, where? It was a frigid wind, and it howled as though angered by her very presence. That made no sense. She shouldn't be anywhere there was wind. _Not this cold._ She couldn't feel the ground, and her fingers were definitely numb.

Again more wind. Again more rocking. There was someone close. Kitty could sense his or her heat. _Pete? Rahne?_

Blinking back blurry double vision, the only vision she seemed to be allowed, Kitty felt again the wind assault her and an increasing tightness around her chest, something holding her. She was cocooned in something. But… Her feet…God, her feet were cold.

"Pete?"

"Sorry, Ms. Pryde, Peter won't be able to get to you in time. His sister always comes first."

"Romany?" Her pulse began to beat erratically at the threatening in the voice. Get to her in time? What? Where was Romany? Where was Wisdom? What happened?

There was a man in front of her. She felt she should know this man with brown hair and brown eyes. His features were familiar. They were… floating. And there was something wrong. She just couldn't place it. She blinked again, the wind stirring her hair into her eyes. How did…why were…It hurt to think, to think back. A blinding, searing pain hit her just behind the eyes, and the last thing she remembered was looking into kind crystal blue eyes and wondering about the tenderness she saw there. _Piotr?_

Then she knew no more as blackness consumed her once again.

#

Piotr looked down at the carefully crafted up-do of brunette curls, the top of Kitty's head, just below his shoulder, a look of wonderment on his face. His hand tingled as he held hers lightly. When her bare arm brushed against his, shivers ran up and down his spine. If he leaned over slightly he could see right down the V of her spaghetti-strapped halter top. Guiltily he focused his attention on her head, ignoring the light-headed feeling he got when he looked at the beautiful woman standing beside him.

David had yet to reach the restaurant yet, so they waited in the lobby for him. Illyana stood to the other side of Piotr, her brother's large hand clamped on her shoulder. At five foot three, she was three inches shorter than Kitty. Kitty had managed to find something nice (and thankfully not black!) for Illyana to wear that evening. And the older woman had been kind enough to French braid her strangely streaked hair, making a rope of lavender, blue and blonde down the girl's back. He towered over both girl and woman. He kept both his charges in his protective grasp, loathing the moment they were to be seated and separated.

The restaurant had a formal, but pleasant feel to it, the scents, if not the atmosphere, reminding him of home. The dance floor beyond the podium and the tables and chairs had a few couples milling about to the music siphoned over the hi-fi system.

"Cat's Laughing!" Kitty nearly shouted. She pointed to a sign near the podium advertized this evening's live band, Cat's Laughing. She smiled up at him, all traces of her earlier mood gone, the soft lighting of the restaurant catching the odd colors of her eyes. He suddenly hoped he wasn't expected to dance. His wedding had been awkward, to say the least, even after his dancer-bride-to-be had given him a few lessons.

#

Piotr checked his watch. Forty-five minutes later they were still standing in the same place, and all three were edgy and hungry. He sighed, eyed the hostess as Kitty asked yet again about reservations. Had Piotr realized that David was too shaken by his mother's death to think about such things, Piotr would have done it for the man. He thought back to what he felt when Illyana had phoned him from Russia, 

immediately regretting the decision to do so as it not only stirred up the feelings despair regarding his parents, but of his daughter's death as well. Zilya had died not two weeks after Illyana had come to America.

Illyana poked him in the ribs, glaring at him from her position well below his shoulder. He blinked, his thoughts rushing back to the present.

He hadn't meant to sound irritable, but that's how it sounded even to his ears. "What?"

"Are we gonna get to eat or what?" she quizzed him impatiently.

Kitty looked back at them. "It might be a little bit, still, Kiddo. At least our name is on the waiting list now. Used Rasputin. Hope you don't mind."

Piotr gave a nonchalant shrug, and then draped an arm over her bare shoulders.

"We're friends right?" she asked, gazing in his eyes.

He nodded. "Da."

"And earlier?"

He shrugged again, meeting her accusing eyes without flinching. He refused to say, "With Benefits." That wasn't what he wanted. Holding her, kissing her had been wonderful, but the look on her face afterwards had broken his heart. He had no intention of doing something so foolish again.

"Adrenaline," Illyana supplied. Kitty only quirked a brow.

"You should call Logan," he stated, unexpectedly. Kitty blinked. "He and the others are searching for you, for Shadowcat."

"He said he was looking for Shadowcat?" she inquired, standing there, blank, amazed and very shaken.

"The other night." When she narrowed her eyes, he quickly replied, "I did not know that Kitty Pryde was Shadowcat before today. I would have told you in my apartment."

She only nodded, didn't release his hand. In fact she held his hand until after they were greeted by David and were seated at a table and forced to look at their own menus.

#

Kitty excused herself to call Logan, a line creasing her forehead, so Piotr took the opportunity to wash up before their orders came.

"Excuse me, David," he told his friend, still a little aggravated that the man had arrived at six o'clock instead of five. His eyes strayed to Kitty's retreating form as she moved lucidly through the crowded room, and then he met Illyana's blue eyes. In Russian he told her, "Be good for David."

She only crossed her arms in a huff and he got up from the table and headed in the general direction of the men's room. He wished that he had remembered to tell Kitty about Logan before now. As much as he wanted her—to be friends with her, he corrected himself hastily—he didn't want to come in between Logan's obvious feelings for the slight woman.

He jumped involuntarily as his cell phone went off just as he reached the men's room door. The waitress, who was on her way out of the ladies' room, smothered a laugh in her hand. Piotr felt his face heat up as he ducked quickly into the safety of the vibrantly tiled men's room.

Balancing the phone between his ear and shoulder, he stepped up to the urinal. "Da?"

"Petey, where's Kitty?"

Logan's frantic voice caught him off guard. He blinked. Frantic and Logan were not words he associated together. In his confusion, it took him a few seconds longer to answer. "Um, she was supposed to be calling you."

"I know that," the other all but yelled in his ear. "Are ya with her?"

Piotr looked down at himself, felt very awkward. "Nyet, Tovarisch. She stepped outside to phone you."

"Well, drop what yer doin and go get her!"

"Logan—"

"Dammit, Peter, stop bein' a bastard and get yer ass outside where ever ya are! She screamed right 'fore the line went dead. Somethin' happened ta her."

Ice filled Piotr's veins, but he didn't tell Logan his location. The flushing sound did it for him. "There is no need for name-calling, Wolverine. I'll check on her."

He gave Logan the location of the restaurant and hurried out of the men's room, shocked to find that the table from whence he'd come, was vacant. Not even Kitty's purse remained. He became more uncomfortable by the minute as his dismay grew. A tentative hand on his elbow caught his attention and he swung around, hoping for some kind of explanation. He hadn't been gone long enough for everyone to disappear.

"The gentleman told me to give you this," the waitress who had taken their orders said quietly. She held a legal sized yellow-gold envelope. Piotr opened the sealed envelope and inspected the contents, his brows drawing together in an agonized expression. The large Russian man swallowed with difficulty, the color draining from his face. From inside the envelope, two swatches of hair--one brown and curly and the other blonde and straight--greeted him along with a single white piece of paper. The page had one black word typed in capital boldface letters.

"**CHOOSE.**"

#

(Sorry for the shortness. Unfortunate last-minute Writing Fart. Almost as bad as writers' block. More up tomorrow.)


	22. So Rescue

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(They belong to Marvel. I have no idea why I brought in the Fantastic Four. I know nothing about them—I think it's obvious. I shall call it a Whedonism. :P

Please keep in mind that I am very much chronologically challenged.

Input welcomed. Much love goes out to those who have been keeping up with this thing so far. Thank you!)

#

Silence: A complete absence of sound.

It happened in seconds. In one blink, Illyana had gone from being surrounded by music, laughter and talking while glaring at her brother's broad back as he'd made his way towards the bathrooms to almost sensory deprivation in a place that looked vaguely familiar. She had a nasty bump on her head. The teenager couldn't remember getting such a goose egg. The smell of paint and drywall dust triggered the memory like a well rehearsed Mnemonic Device.

Piotr's new art gallery in Soho.

With new clarity of her surroundings, Illyana took stock in her situation. It hurt to move her head too much. She had been working with Professor Xavier and Ms. Frost long enough to know a psychic attack when she felt one and used her limited knowledge from both her teacher's lessons to erect a psi-barrier. The dull ache faded quickly. Whoever had been rough-housing in her mind wouldn't be getting in that way any longer. If whoever-it-was still wanted in her head, they would have to take another route.

Without the headache, Illyana could concentrate better, and she gave a small sigh of relief. The darkness outside indicated that it was sometime passed seven thirty, but the teenager had no idea how much time had passed since she had seen her brother, David or Kitty. Wondering where they were and if they were in danger, she noted that she had scrapes on her knees and elbows like someone had dragged her. She was covered in a thin layer of…soot? No, she thought upon further inspection, drywall dust. She pushed her long streaked tresses out of her face, annoyed by the fact that her wrists were linked together. In fact, her wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape, but there wasn't anything covering her mouth. It wasn't like she was going to yell for anyone anyway. This place was still under construction. They were scheduled to be done in three weeks for Piotr's grand opening, but the plastic sheets on the walls and the drywall dust on the floor made the darkened space seem like they wouldn't be done in time. Illyana knew that with the fire and the loss of Piotr's newest creations, the grand opening would be set back even further.

Thunder rolled. Illyana wondered if she had missed the lightning when she had been out. The ground rumbled.

"That's never a good sign," she said, doubting her first assumption of a thunderstorm as she used her teeth on the duct tape binding her wrists. Idly she hoped that the tape wouldn't stick to her lips as she pried it away from her skin.

#

Wolverine stumbled out of the wreckage a bloody mess. Most of his clothing had been torn free of his body, along with his now-healing skin. It hurt like a motherfucker and itched as it healed. He wanted to take his claws to the places where the skin was rapidly mending, a thin layer of clear liquid coating the wounds. There was little of his uniform left, but apparently someone higher up was with him as his ass-end and groin still had a stitch of clothing. As it was, he still had a few pieces of his mask, part of his boots, and his underwear. Other than that he was bleeding all over and healing. If his bones weren't laced with Adamantium, he wouldn't have been standing.

Thank God for Speedeez, he thought bemused. He surveyed the debris, shocked and dismayed that he somehow had ended up hitting the Chrysler Building. With all the super hero fights and terrorist activities lately, plowing into any building in New York City was not the brightest idea. S.H.I.E.L.D. would be all over this.

"Tony's never gonna let me live this one down," he told himself grumpily.

"We ain't either," a baritone Brooklyn-accented voice said from his left. "What the hell happened?"

Wolverine eyed the orange rock-man with all the irritation he could muster then snorted, clearing the blood out of his nose so he could smell the air. "Hell if I know. Anybody hurt?" He inhaled, wished he didn't as he got a good whiff of the smoke and soot. His lungs weren't quite up to par just yet. He choked and coughed.

Ben Grimm, also known as The Thing of the Fantastic Four, crossed his arms and glared at the little injured Canadian. "Yer damned lucky," Grimm told him. "Ya crashed into construction. They were doin' some repairs on up a ways." He gestured half-heartedly. "Spiderman or somethin' or rather. We evacuated mostly everybody. Stretcho's gettin' the rest o' 'em now."

"Wasn't intentional," Wolverine replied, squinted up at the building. He took in his surroundings, getting his bearings. Several fire trucks were hosing the building down, and police cars and news vans littered the area. "A teammate's in trouble."

The Thing put his hands on his hips, a frown on his lumpy, stony face. "Which one this time?"

"Shadowcat. Kitty Pryde." He scratched at his chest, at the increase in itchiness there, not surprised to feel a sharp point of pain at his fingertips. Inspection of his hands revealed blood. Further inspection revealed several open, but healing, gashes on his chest, skin and hair filling in as the gashes closed.

"Kitty?" Grimm's face broke into a smile. "Haven't seen her in a while." He looked thoughtful a moment. "Huh. Not since she freakin' saved Spiderman's ass from that Shockin' guy a coupl'a months back."

Well, what a revoltin' development this was turning out to be, Logan found himself thinking. He opted for the most intelligent question he could think of. "Whu?"

Grimm repeated himself, grinning broadly. "Ya should'a seen her. Would'a made ya proud. The kid's grown up quite a bit. A real fighter. Didn't need our help at all. We got to sit back and enjoy the show."

Wolverine could almost picture the four of them in that hover car of theirs eating popcorn as Kitty and Spiderman kicked whose ever ass needed kicking. Had Wolverine been the eye-rolling type, he would have rolled his grey eyes heavenward. Instead, he chose a few words that helped him relieve some stress and gave a death glare to The Thing like it was his fault that Kitty had been in New York all along. He suspected that had any of the X-men thought to contact any of the other super-powered folks in New York, they could have pinpointed her exact location.

"She got a place in the city, then?" he questioned just for the hell of it, to see if he theory was correct. He was rewarded when Ben Grimm nodded his bumpy orange head. Logan had to find a level of Zen he'd been searching for his whole life just to keep from yelling out the profanity that crossed his mind. As a result a few of the more colorful choice words slipped out through bared teeth.

The man called The Thing only grinned impishly. "Brooklyn, I think. Works at a biker bar in Yorkville. Great lil' joint if ya haven't been there. Riff's on the River. Me an' the Matchstick had the pleasure o' reacquaintancing ourselves with her just after that Shocko incident."

"Since when is 'reacquaintancing' a word?" Though he was reminded of Jubilee's malapropism on one of their adventures in Australia ("Loquats. They're like kumquats, right?"), Logan didn't wait for a reply nor did he see Ben Grimm shrug his huge orange shoulders as his grey eyes continued to search the scene for anything out of place. The Blackhawk had been in pristine working condition before he took it out of the hangar. Now it was a pile of rubble. And it would be sorted through by the NYPD. Not good. New York was not ready for Shi'ar Technology. "Ya got a phone on ya, Rocky?"

"Wolverine," said Reed Richards, known to the world as the elastic Mr. Fantastic of the Fantastic Four—who were currently known to Wolverine as the Fantastic Fuckers (he really didn't have time for them; he had to find Kitty)—as he and the other two members of the FF walked up behind Ben Grimm, "With all the terrorist paranoia going on—"

"Can it, Stretch," Wolverine cut him off but didn't extend his claws. "I ain't got time fer it. Somethin' hit me, an' I went down."

"You hit the Chrysler Building!" the Invisible Woman cried.

His eyes widened. "It wasn't like I was aimin'!" She was quiet. Damned super-heroes. Worse than Cyke. Wolverine was still on the part-time roster for the Avengers. They'd already asked him to begin training a group of kids. He knew how to handle himself, damn it. They just needed to stop drawing stupid conclusions. "I could make this official Avenger business an' ask ya ta leave."

"You wouldn't," Richards took a step back, looked down at his wife.

At that minute the faint smell of cherry blossoms hit everyone's sense of smell, and Logan turned to see one of Illyana's golden disks fading. Colossus, armored, shoeless, shirtless and in tattered jeans, stood there. Wrapped in his massive arms were two people: a woman with red hair and dull brown eyes who looked like she had seen better days and a boy with spiked blonde hair and dressed in a peasant blouse and some kind of long and colorful… skirt?

That wasn't a boy, he realized with a start. Wolverine studied the kid closely. Her skin was pale, but had a golden glow to it in as the fire danced in the building behind Wolverine. She looked about Kitty's age, but was definitely taller than Kitty. Her facial bones were delicately carved, her mouth full, her nose dainty. She wore several chains about her slender neck and crystals decorated several places on her ears. A scar cut across her brow and a lightning bolt tattoo began at the corner of her jaw and worked its way down her neck, disappearing beneath her the collar of her white shirt. Logan scented the air and the color drained from his face.

"Half Pint?" he questioned, already knowing the answer but dreading hearing it.

"I'm not half a pint," an older Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina answered in return, her blue eyes fixed on him. They glittered in the firelight. What happened to his little girl?

"Look," Ben Grimm said, interrupting anything else, "I know I'm not on the up and up with the X-men, but aren't you supposed to be dead?" He pointed at Colossus with one large orange finger.

The big Russian shrugged, and, for the first time in several years, told the truth about his status. "Got married. It was safer to say I was dead." He'd asked the Professor to make up something to keep his family safe. They couldn't do anything to his family if he was dead. So he thought.

"An' now?"

"Divorced."

"Ouch."

Again Colossus shrugged. He turned to Wolverine. "How did you get here, Tovarisch?"

"Crashed," Logan replied, pointed his thumb back towards the wreckage. The big Russian mutant's shiny brows shot up and he gave a low whistle. Wolverine turned to Illyana. She gave him a hug as though she hadn't seen him in a long time. By the looks of her, he thought, she probably hadn't. "Wanna tell me what the fuck is goin' on?"

"Long story," she told him, looked up at her older brother, then back at Wolverine. She met his accusing eyes without flinching. "It's me though." There was defiance in her tone as well as subtle challenge.

He touched his nose with a gloveless finger. "Yeah."

"So how about we go save Kitty?" she suggested.

#

(Yup. Majik. Different. AU. Explained later. 'Nuff said—besides asking for reviews.)


	23. Hero's Heart

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Disclaimer: Colossus, Illyana, Kitty and others are property of Marvel. I created David Brogan and his wife Amelia for this story. This is a work of fanfiction.

Hope everyone enjoys me wrapping up some final answers before the showdown. I think the last chapter left many confused. And I do hope that everyone enjoys my version of Magik. Big plans for her in the future.

I've changed the type of story to include action/adventure.

Input welcomed. Thanks go to everyone who was kind enough to review, and thanks go to those who have been following this convoluted thing.)

#

Journal Entry: April 9th

My baby sister is 25 years old. Illyana Nikolievna. My only family left. She disappeared, and when she reappeared with Amelia in tow, she had aged ten years. She will not confide in me. I think she may have confided in Katya, and I do not know if that makes me happy that she has found a confidant or jealous of Katya. It is not easy to be jealous of Katya. Katya is—well, she is wonderful. There I said it--or wrote it, rather.

Illyana has a tattoo and several piercings in each ear. I did not even get a say in how she grew up. A tattoo. A bolt of lightning from her jaw, down her neck, across her shoulders and back, and down her side to just below her knee.

I do not know what to do. Everything is good and everything is bad.

I blame Katya for giving her the tattoo idea before she disappeared. Perhaps Katya is not all that wonderful.

Great. Now I am confused again.

#

"Romany?"

David watched coldly as Kitty went limp again. How she'd managed to awaken with all the psychic energy he was using on her to keep her out cold was beyond him. He thumbed through her thoughts deliberately violating her sense of privacy, smirking evilly when he found a particularly interesting memory. Spiderman was Peter Parker. He filed it away for another day. He sifted through her thoughts; pleased with the ease he could navigate her mind.

David frowned. One thought, a memory of some kind, was slipping away like a cloud. That shouldn't be happening. He managed to latch on to it. Kitty giving birth. But the memory itself was… oh, a plant. Someone, a psychic much more powerful than himself, had given Kitty this memory. There were others nearby and he studied them like a scientist would study a lab rat.

Whoa.

She'd been given a whole new life with a husband and child only to have that life used against her to find…well, now that's kind of gross, he thought and put the memories back where he'd found them, giving them a nudge so that Kitty wouldn't remember them so vividly.

He pulled out of her mind and looked at her as she dangled in the air in a straight jacket with only some rope keeping her from falling sixty-three stories. She had the power and the abilities to save Amelia. Her mind was in a fragile state as it was and it should have been easy to manipulate.

But he wouldn't hesitate to cut the rope if her mind, even in its unconscious and fragile state, refused to cooperate. Hell, he'd shot his own mother and hired those punks to light up the place. Nothing could stop him from killing Piotr's girlfriend. Only getting Amelia out mattered. If that required breaking a few eggs, then—

He started when his cell phone rang. His dark eyes glittered in the LCD light of the phone's face when he identified the caller. He flipped it open and held the device to his ear, grinning broadly, wickedly. He and Amelia would be safe from the Kingpin. David would make damn sure of that.

"So you figured it out," he told his former friend, Piotr Rasputin.

#

"Choose."

Piotr could only stare blankly at the paper he held between his thick fingers. Choose? Between his baby sister, his best friend and his new friend? How the hell was he supposed to do that? He felt sick, bile beginning to rise in the back of his throat.

He looked around frantically to see some evidence as to who had taken his sister and friends. His blue gaze pierced the room, taking in the darkened atmosphere, everything glittering from the disco ball on the ceiling of the dance floor. A few couples had made their way to the dance floor; others were already there, swaying to the slow music. Waiters and waitresses filtered around the candlelit tables scattered around the circular room, attending their guests.

He directed his attention back to the young woman who had handed him the yellow-gold envelope. Without really meaning to, his artist's eyes appraised her. She had dark brown eyes and rich black hair. She was tall, and her body was slender, her wrists delicate. He felt certain that had he not met Kitty, this young woman would be someone to add to his list of conquests—if he kept lists. He frowned at that particular thought. How had that happened, he wondered as he collected his thoughts. When had Kitty come to matter so much? She was his friend, he reminded himself. And he was hers. He set the thoughts aside, getting his priorities in order.

1. Find out who abducted his friends and sister.

2. Find his friends and sister.

3. Find their abductor.

4. Give his best imitation of the Hulk on said abductor.

As gently as he could, so as not alarm her, he posed his question to the young woman standing in front of him. "The gentleman who gave this to you," he began, bringing his thoughts together and trying to sound as reasonable as possible. "What did he look like?"

She gazed at him quizzically. "He was the man that came in with you," she replied, her voice light and musical. Piotr's heart stopped beating for a split second. David? David took the girls?

"He paid the bill and took his daughter with him," she continued as though his world hadn't just shattered. "He said there was a family emergency."

Daughter? Family emergency? Was this some sort of prank? He thanked the woman, and she went on her way. He blinked, looked down at the now-offending piece of paper.

"Choose."

Had David kidnapped his baby sister and his friend? David had taken Illyana, of that he was certain. And Kitty had screamed during her conversation with Logan. Piotr had never heard Logan so frantic. The feral mutant had always taken everything in stride.

"Boizhe Moi," he mumbled, swiped a big hand across his face, felt the roughness of the calluses on the pads of his fingers. He wasn't surprised to find his hands were trembling, the white paper held between his thick fingers quivering ever so slightly. His stomach rolled and he feared he would be physically ill. The bass music filtered through his skull only causing more nausea.

A trickle of sweat worked its way down his spine as he made his way through the packed room and out the door, the paper clutched in his hand, the envelope long forgotten. The cool night air did little to alleviate his fear, his anger, his revulsion. He paid little attention to his surroundings. Several people eyed him with distaste. One woman told him to "Watch it, ya moron."

"Choose."

Why had David done this? David was supposed to be his friend, his comrade. He'd known David since he was nineteen. The younger man had still been in high school when Piotr and his wife had moved into the apartment building just up the street from Anya's former dance studio. Buddies, as David had said on several occasions. During the tumultuous time that was the process of his divorce, Piotr briefly dated a young woman by the name of Amelia. David had been smitten. Since Amelia and Piotr had never really worked, Piotr set up his friend and his ex-girlfriend. David had married her. Piotr had been his best man. So what had changed so much that David would kidnap his baby sister and his new friend?

"Choose."

Illyana: His only family left.

Kitty: A woman who he was close to.

His sister, his Snowflake: the last joy he had left.

Kitty Pryde, Katya: the woman who managed to give him joy.

Piotr started at that thought as he looked around the crowded street, hoping to have a glimpse of David, Illyana or Kitty. He walked quickly away from the building intent on finding Kitty's parked car, to the parking garage up the street.

"Choose."

The choice should be easy. Go and rescue Illyana. She was defenseless. Kitty could fend for herself, and he was sure she would understand if he rescued his sister first. Piotr cursed himself for not allowing Wolverine to give Illyana field training. He had not wanted Illyana exposed to the dangerous lifestyle of the X-men.

Who was he kidding? He lived in New York City, in the Bronx. That was just as dangerous for his sister as the X-men. Not for the first time since leaving the team did Piotr regret ever meeting Anya Makarova. The only good thing to ever come from that woman was Zilya and Anya had hidden the virus that killed her from him. Zilya had been in the final stages of the virus when Anya had left her at the Institute.

The lifestyle of the X-men had been dangerous, but it had been fun. When this was over, he thought with surety, he would see if Cyclops and Emma would allow him back on the team. They were unsanctioned, but he supposed there was always space. Logan had said there were several teaching positions open at the Institute, one specifically for art. Perhaps—

"Choose."

"Nyet," he said with finality and took out his cell phone and dialed David.

The man who answered sounded like his friend, but the tone… that was not the David he knew. The David he knew was a kind and generous soul who smiled as much as possible and made others smile with him.

"So you figured it out."

Piotr took one calming breath and then barked his question, "Where are they?"

"Gotta choose which one ya want to save, Peter," David told him. "Which one will live? Which one will die?"

A sensation of sickness and desolation swept over him. He gripped his phone tighter, willing David to be only joking. Please, god, let him be joking. "You cannot be serious, Tovarisch."

"As serious as a heart attack." There was a brief pause and he added, "Tovarisch."

Piotr's frown deepened. _Friend indeed. A friend doesn't kidnap his friend's sister or his friend's girlfriend._ "Why are you doing this?"

"'S'funny you should ask," David told him. "I _could_ tell ya. Or I could let you figure it out on your own."

"Where are they?" Piotr was growing impatient.

David gave a clipped laugh. "Which one? Illyana or Kitty?"

"I choose them both," Piotr answered through clenched teeth.

Again David laughed, this time it was a hardy laugh that Piotr knew made David's belly jiggle. "One or the other, Peter. And do hurry. Time is of the essence. Call me back when you've chosen, and I'll tell you where she is."

The line went dead and Piotr cursed heavily and hardily pouring forth all his anger into the profanity and crushing the phone in his hand.

"Whoa. And I thought Wolverine cursed like a sailor, bro."

"Lenin's Ghost!"

_Illyana Nikolievna? What has happened to you?_

#

Three suns dipped low on the horizon, casting an eerie orange glow on the Land. Illyana watched as the two figures—a petite pale-skinned blond girl with strange streaks of purple and blue, and a much taller, elderly black woman with long white hair—retreated into the brown and green striped forest, pushing through the strange underbrush. Memories of her first meeting with the Witch assaulted her, and she frowned. Then sighed. Damn manipulative wench. Icy tendrils sank into her heart chilling her despite the warmness of the evening.

It wasn't like should could have left before now, but it still angered Illyana after all these years. She took a deep breath and steadied herself for what she needed to do, her slender callused hands gliding through her blonde spikes. She could do this. She could.

She'd just conquered someone really big and really powerful. So, yeah, she could do this. She could face her brother and tell him all that had transpired in the ten years that she'd been away. She could.

Really. It was no big deal.

Yeah.

And she was the Queen of Sheba. Or as Papa had said on many occasions, "When the crayfish will whistle on the mountain."

She took another calming breath. How would Piotr react to seeing his baby sister all grown up? She wondered, her blue eyes glancing left and then right, searching for any sign of danger. To her well-trained crystal blue eyes there was nothing out of the ordinary, but she dared not use greater magicks to search for anything close by. The Witch would sense it.

"Time to find everyone," she told herself quietly, slowly edging towards the Lake's edge, careful to keep from making too much noise. The goblins would be here any time now. The Witch had just barely managed to keep the beasts at bay that inital meeting. Hopefully, she wasn't supposed to help lessen their number, for she had a mission to accomplish. It was essential to get the timing right. Only a few moments should be allowed to pass for Piotr and the others. The triple suns reflected off the surface of the Lake, and Illyana squinted. Her blue gaze pierced the distance to the Caer Hallow, the white castle that had taken on an eerie golden-yellow color. She shuddered in revulsion. Ten years was a long time. If only there was another way, she thought, but she quickly dismissed the any ideas stemming from that train of thought. What was done was done. Her brother needed her. Kitty needed her. Gathering her long skirt in her fists and kneeling down at the water's edge she called upon a scrying incantation and located her brother, Kitty, David and Amelia.

She gasped when she saw Amelia's state, her heart going out to the woman. "Boizhe Moi."

The red-haired woman looked worse for wear. The Kingpin's men hadn't treated David's wife very well. She was thin, pale and beaten. Her clothing was torn and dirty, and her hair matted and stringy. Bruises ringed her brown eyes and blood smeared her face in several places.

"Do I know you?" she croaked when Illyana manifested in the room in which she was held prisoner.

"Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina, Sorceress Supreme," Illyana announced automatically, "I'm Peter's little sister."

Amelia only nodded, looked somewhat relieved. "You've gotten taller since I last saw you."

"Yeah. That happens. Let's get you to David before he does too much more damage."

The red-haired battered Amelia Brogan smiled for the first time in weeks and took Illyana's proffered hand.

They reappeared in the parking garage Illyana had left so many years before, her heart in her throat at the sight of her brother. He was just as she remembered him. Tall, sturdy and broad shouldered. A broad grin stretched across her face and amusement flickered in her blue eyes at the sound of his Russian profanity. Mama would wash his mouth out and Papa would have tanned his hide had they heard him.

"Whoa," she said firmly, her voice echoing in the chamber, "and I thought Wolverine cursed like a sailor, bro."

Piotr jumped and spun around, his expression was like someone who had been struck in the face. "Lenin's Ghost!" he cried. He blinked a few times as his brain processed what he was seeing and then stared. She was keenly aware of his scrutiny as she stood there, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Hi, Piotr."

"Illyana Nikolievna?" he finally managed to ask. "Amelia?"

Amelia broke free with tears streaming down her face and limped in a rush to Piotr. Automatically he reached out and clutched her to him. She cried into his chest, her slight frame shuddering with each pent up sob. He held her in place for a few moments; let her gather her strength from his, a hand slipping into her hair, the other curving around her shoulders.

Illyana wanted to hug him, too. Oh, but to just rush to him like Amelia did and be accepted wholeheartedly. It had been so long since she had seen him, spoken with him, gotten one of the hugs she knew he reserved only for her. Even the other Piotr hadn't been _her _Piotr, _her_ older brother. But she only nodded instead, keeping her distance for the moment, until it was the right time to get one of his special brotherly hugs. "It's me, Piotr Nikolievitch." She took a step forward. "We don't have much time. Kitty's trapped at the Chrysler Building."

"Trapped?" Piotr's face was an instance mask of worry. Illyana smiled inwardly. What she had suspected as a teenager she could fully realize as an adult. Her brother was head over heels for Kitty. She was secretly pleased and sincerely hoped Kitty felt the same way. From what she remembered, Kitty had gone through much more than Piotr. And now woman was in the hands of a madman.

"The building is on fire, and she's out cold. Somethin's crashed into it."

"Terrorists?" He directed his attention to the woman in his arms, drying her tears, giving her comforting words even as he listened to his sister.

Illyana shook her head, trying to remember the images from the scrying pool. "Nah, I think it was one of the X-jets. I think David might have knocked it into the fiftieth story or so when he thought he was gonna get caught. And he still there."

"You, you have grown up, little one," he commented quietly, scrutinizing her.

She knew this would come up, and she dreaded it. Anxiety spurted through her. What if he didn't understand? What if he didn't accept her back into his life? What if, when he found out what she had done, he told her to back to her Land and never return? She ran a hand across the scar on her brow, a habit she'd picked up whilst training with Cat and the Witch.

"Yeah," she finally said, somewhat sheepishly. "Uh, y'know that little dimension I teleport through?" At his short nod, she continued, "well, when I managed to get out of your gallery and teleport directly there, I was going to turn around and 'port into the men's room at—" She faltered briefly, trying to think of the name of the restaurant—"Garden… Paradise Garden, but I got…delayed."

"Obviously." He was deadpan.

"I kinda had to overthrow a dictatorship in order to be able to use my powers to 'port," she told him. "It took longer than I expected it would. The overlord had methods of tracking my energy signature, so I couldn't just leave. They would have set these really nasty traps."

"You will tell me in detail later?" he ventured quietly.

She shrugged. "Maybe."

He looked at her sharply. The sight of her confused him. What had happened to his fifteen-year-old sister? The withdrawn and wary look in her eyes caught him off guard. Her blue eyes were just as haunted as Kitty's, if not more so.

"I am here, little one," he told her just as quietly as before, "if you need me. I only wish I could have help you against this dictator. You must have gone through much." He strolled forward and embraced his baby sister, now a grown woman. "Welcome home, Illyana Nikolievna," he whispered, and hot tears filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, a cry of relief broke from her lips. She held him tightly. Finally, after ten years of fighting demons, both inner and outer, she was home.

Illyana gave a shuddering sigh and looked up into her brother's loving gaze. "I've missed you so much, Piotr Nikolievitch." She smiled then, a real smile, and it warmed his heart that her face lit up. "I would have done just about anything to get you to Limbo, but I couldn't risk it. It took ten years."

"Ten—"

"I'm twenty-five, I think. There's not really any time there… huh… I think I'm older than Kitty now."

"My baby sister is four years younger than me," he mused.

She gave an impish half-smile. "But I'm cute."

He nodded and chuckled. He held his sister tightly against him again then released her. "So. Rescue?"

"Rescue," she agreed, in Russian. He blinked. It had obviously been a while since she had spoken their native tongue. She sounded like a tourist. She flushed slightly, frowning, and switched back to English. "To me it's been about five years since I've spoken the language. You and I will have to practice after we get Kitty.

"David's there at the Chrysler Building too. He's doing something to her, but I'm not entirely sure what it is that he's doing. So it's probably best if we hurry."

He switched to his changeform, his clothing tearing, his dress shoes ripping. Illyana grinned. How she missed seeing him change! Her knight in shining armor. Even if it wasn't her Piotr who had been changing before. Amelia only looked on wide-eyed.

"I'm a mutant," he told her. "Let's go find David and Kitty."

She could only nod as he gingerly picked her up with one arm and hefted his sister with the other. They disappeared in a short burst of golden light as a shining disk devoured them and only left behind the slight scent of cherry blossoms.

#

(Tell me what you think. Up next: The show down! Newly inspired by UXM # 302 for the upcoming scenes.)


	24. Never Do Hero Work in a Skirt

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Disclaimers: Marvel owns. I do not. Extras mine, some story elements mine, other elements nabbed shamelessly from the Kiotr LJ, "Cable & Deadpool" and "Wisdom" and re-mixed by turtle power, fairy dust and whatever little extras are carried in Deadpool's and/or Cable's belt pouches sans lint. I was not drinking—unless you count caffeine and guarana—when I wrote this. No fourth walls were broken in the making of this scene. Kiotr all the way. No David just yet—re-write, again. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

#gasps for air#

I am regretting the brain fart of allowing the Fantastic Four into my world, questionable quality though it is. Someone should have stamped "Cooties" somewhere other than their asses so I could see it. I really have no idea what to do with them except brainwash them to make them drool. See, tol'ja… Whedonism… But I must admit: superhero drool _is_ funny_. It does work better with a telepath though._

Thanks to everyone who has been super nice to me by even reading this fic. And thanks for the reviews, too!

Input welcomed and cherished.)

#

April 9th

Dear Diary,

This is the first time in a few days that I've had time to write.

Been busy. Evil telepath plots revenge. Two twenty-somethings find love in Cheetos flavored water. (I swear NYC rainwater tastes like stale Cheetos!) Twenty-five-year-old, who used to be fifteen-year-old just a few days ago, settles into new environment.

I seriously hate telepaths. Really. I know I've said it before, but I swear they're like sand at the beach. They get into all your intimate…bits. Take Emma, for instance. She can get into my head. I still don't trust Emma any farther than I can throw her. And I seriously doubt those implants are filled with helium, so it's not like I can throw her very far. I can shove her through a wall, but I'd still have to hold on to her, or, you know, there's a dilemma between a wall and Emma.

Walemma.

Like Wal-mart but cheaper.

#

Spiderman was on patrol in Queens tying up some hoods that were heisting an electronics store, when one of the televisions flashed to the Channel Six news for what was aptly called a "News Flash".

"Tragedy has struck the Chrysler Building," the news anchor announced with an air that brooked no argument. Scenes of a raging inferno burst across the television in vivid color. Parker's gut twisted at the screenshot of man being loaded into the back of an ambulance. "Moments ago, what looked to be a military aircraft crashed into the building."

Spiderman ran off before he could hear or see more, jumping to the side of the nearest building. _A military aircraft?_ He climbed up quickly and sprinted to the farthest edge, leaping into the air and firing his newest batch of webbing. _Not good._ _What if there were casualties like the terrorist attacks?_ The adhesive substance latched onto a taller building and swung up and away from Queens. He knew it was a bad idea to give the NYPD that military-grade helicopter.

Well, okay, so he voted for it. The idea was a good one, at least. It was time the city started to fight for itself for a change. The execution was the apparent problem. But you'd think that the city would at least train the pilots not to crash into buildings. This was New York City! It had tall buildings! Duh!

His heart raced as he pumped his arms, shooting webbing, grabbing webbing, shooting webbing, grabbing webbing. He arched his back and pointed his toes, landing on the top of an antenna. He could see the smoke clouding the skyline. _Aw, geez._ He hoped with all his heart that the Fantastic Four wasn't in space. A thunderclap shook the heavens angrily.

_Okay. Not a good idea to be on top of gigantic lightning rod. _He pressed onward, his heart going out to those who may need his help. It was raining heavily by the time he got close enough to the building to see the flames. Something landed on him with enough force to knock the webbing out of his hand. Something was on his back and a piece of cloth blocked out his vision.

"Cripes!" he yelled, trying to see, trying to get another shot of webbing. Spiderman could only flail his arms. _Not what I needed right now._ A golden aura consumed them.

#

"So how about we go save Kitty?" Illyana suggested, and Piotr had to make himself remember that this woman with the short spiky blonde hair, multiple ear piercings, strange tattoo, and scarred brow was his baby sister, his Little Snowflake. How had this happened, he wondered, not sure with whom to be angry. Was this David's doing? Was this a side effect to her mutation? Had some other mutant or super-powered being interfered in some way? He would deal with it later. He would have to. Kitty was in danger now. She needed him.

Wolverine nodded. "Sounds like a plan, 'Yana. Ya know where she is?" Piotr was amused that his sister was now taller than Wolverine, when before they had been about the same height.

Illyana pointed up. All eyes gazed up at the Chrysler building, the black smoke rising, blotting out the top part of the building.

"Then we'll retrieve her," Mr. Fantastic volunteered immediately.

"NO! You mustn't!" she screamed, her voice loaded with desperation, as she took a step forward, hand raised and fingers splayed, her face a mask of frightened anxiety. A combination expressions on faces looked at the young woman…Surprise, dismay, anger, confusion—and that was just from the Fantastic Four. The sorceress gathered herself, standing tall. "My mutation gives me the power to time travel by going through a dimension that has no time." Mr. Fantastic opened his mouth to speak, but she continued before he had a chance to utter a word, "I've already done this three times, so please, for the love of all things holy, can we do it my way this time? I know of a way to save Kitty without casualties." Richards closed his mouth, looked perplexed.

"Three times?" the Invisible Woman asked. Her eyes appeared impossibly huge in her pale face.

Illyana nodded. Mrs. Richards ran a hand through her blonde locks as she considered the implications. Piotr leaned down, looming over his sister. "Illyana, has Katya died each time we've tried to save her?"

"Da. Yes, all three times," she confirmed and Piotr's heart sank. His eyes cut to Wolverine, whose gray eyes had become flat and as unreadable as stone. Her blue eyes flashed with azure fire as she continued, "and you did once, Piotr, and so did the Fantastic Four. Spiderman, who will be coming soon, died twice. David telekinetically slammed him through six buildings. He's a very powerful teke."

"So who are we up against exactly?" The Ever-lovin' Thing asked. "An' how can we help?"

"A mutant named David Brogan kidnapped Kitty and my sister," Piotr explained after getting a nod from Illyana. "Illyana—" He signified his sister holding both of her shoulders in his strong hands—"managed to escape, and now she's brought his wife—" He indicated the red-head by releasing Illyana and putting his arms carefully around the injured woman—"for some reason that Illyana will tell you now."

"David did this?" she asked weakly. She looked around the wreckage, at the Fantastic Four, at the EMTs and Firefighters working diligently to save lives. First, she'd gotten kidnapped by a bunch of thugs, now her husband was a terrorist? When had that happened? _David, what's happened to you,_ she thought sadly.

Piotr pressed a kiss into her hair, a habit from years of knowing her. "It will be alright, 'Melia." She nodded, and they focused their attention on Illyana's plan.

#

Kitty was groggy. It felt like a million pins were impaling her brain. Thunder boomed directly overhead. Odd-colored eyes opened sweeping dark lashes up. She blinked. Instant vertigo assailed her senses as she looked down into the traffic below. The brunette squeezed her eyes shut again, swallowing hard. Seeing the ground from so high up after thinking she was _on_ the ground did not bode well for her equilibrium. She fought the nausea, groaning as the wind whipped at her, and she began to rock back and forth. _Oh, God. _The smoke did little to help her regain any balance or fight the sickness that burned through her body. Rain poured down on her, soaking her within minutes. She swallowed again, trying to think straight against the roaring in her skull, trying to ignore her churning stomach. She assessed the situation to keep her mind off anything other than reasserting control of her present situation.

_Tied up. I can't move. I remember…Where is…I remember a man grabbing me…I remember trying to phase but my powers didn't work…Psychic attack?_

She swallowed again. Kitty wondered if she could concentrate hard enough to use her powers or if she would fall to her death because of the searing pain in her head. It was then that she realized that the wind had stopped howling and the icy rain had stopped pelting her exposed skin, and she was lying down. She smelled fresh linens and was no longer cold. She was dry and warm.

_Yeahbuhwhat?_

"I know you're only pretending to sleep. You should really get some shut-eye, luv."

_That voice!_ "Pete?"

Kitty's eyes shot open, stared at the Dazzler poster above her, immediately confused. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in everything. Other posters--_Star Wars_, _NYC Ballet_, _Moscow Ballet_, _Labyrinth, Legend_ and _The Dark Crystal_—adorned the pale blue-hued walls. Two bookshelves with trinkets, what-not's and different books—such as Asimov's _Galactic Empire_ series and _Foundation_ series, Tolkien's _The Lord of the Rings_ and _The Hobbit_, Lewis's _The Chronicles of Narnia_, Huxley's _Brave New World_, Homer's_ Iliad_, Virgil's _The Odyssey, _Brooks' _Shannara_ and _Landover_ series, and Eddings' _The Belgariad_ series—sat side by side near the window which had blue curtains. A black banker's box of photos of lost friends rested on top of one of the shelves. Her eyes came to rest on the bed in which she lay. The bed was decorated with a plain white quilt and dressed in soft, freshly laundered bed linens. She wasn't in her apartment. In fact, this looked like her old bedroom at the mansion.

"Pete?" she asked again, her brown, gold- and green-flecked eyes searching the room, until she found who she was looking for. Pete Wisdom, the man to whom she was engaged, lounged casually against the door frame of the room, a soft smile on his thin lips. There were age lines Kitty didn't remember about his mouth and eyes, muting his thirty-something youth with strength. He held his suit jacket over his shoulder with one hand, his black tie hung loosely about his neck. Pete's brown eyes focused on her. For a moment he studied her intently, then he stalked forward, prowling like a beast from the Savage Land. He stopped in front of her, her eyes never leaving her face.

"You've been through hell, luv. Just rest." He smoothed her hair, and she stretched out her arms to touch him, hold him, tears prickling her eyes. He was here. Her Pete was here.

"What happened?" she inquired, relief rushing through her as he sat on the bed and draped an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled into him.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead sending tingles down her spine. "Bumped your head." His voice was so gentle. "Sleep. You need your strength."

"'Sleep?'" No. There was a man. A man had grabbed her. Something was wrong. Someone was missing. There was— "My head?"

She regarded Pete's profile with searching gravity as he sat there beside her. She studied his aquiline nose, the way his jet black hair fell across his straight forehead, the set of his stubborn chin. His eyes touched hers and danced away. _Hiding something._ He was so real. She felt the weight and warmth of his arm on her shoulders, his body brushing against hers. His fingers played on her shoulder, gingerly rubbing in a circle. He smelled of cologne, ash and scotch. _So real._

"Pryde—"

"You're dead," she accused. Tears streaked her face, dripped off her chin. Her heart ached under her breast. This was a dream. It had to be. _Please. Just a dream._ He was dead and gone, and he would never be in her life again. This was an evil dream, a nightmare. And she couldn't wake up. God, she couldn't wake up.

He shrugged. "Still say you need to get some rest. Rasputin's on his way."

She stiffened, her attention zoning in on the man with his arm around her. "Where's Peter? What have you done with him? Where am I?" To her horror she couldn't phase. _Oh, my God._ This was a mind trick. Not a dream. It had to be. _Not again._ She was tied up and dangling from a building, not lying in bed at the mansion with her dead fiancé. Piotr was the priority. If she could find, Peter, she thought perhaps he could make things alright again. He had trained at Xavier's. Once an X-man, always an X-man. _I'm not an X-man. No more telepaths. Please._

Pete sighed and looked over at her, at her reaction, taking his arm back from her shoulders. He touched her cheek in a wistful gesture, smiling sadly. Tilting her head back, she peered at the face she knew so well, not sure what to feel. She fisted her pillow. _Peter, where are you_? "You're so bloody stubborn, Petal. Rasputin'll definitely have his hands full with you."

"Where the hell's Peter?" She smacked him with the pillow—hard. "What did you do to him?" She hit him again as he ducked.

Pete looked at her sharply then. "Pryde, d'you realize—" He stopped, shook his head sadly, then gazed at her lovingly—"No, no, you don't." He swung his feet off the bed, grabbing up his suit jacket. "I had to call in favors you would not believe just to talk to you. (Just to get you to shut up and pass out again.)"

As if on cue a woman appeared out of a strange cloud of pink and green smoke. Kitty blinked, having never seen anyone like her before. This woman was as tall as Pete, with high-perched breasts strapped in a leather corset, a slim waist that flared into a tutu, and her black locks slicked back into a topknot with a little tiara perched there. Her widow's peak was as impressive as some Japanese anime characters, as her face was arresting and irregular, her mouth full and her stub-nose pierced. The woman's dark black eyebrows—one was pierced—were tilted like a Vulcan's over slanted dark eyes, and she had pointed ears with enough piercings to make her dangerous in a thunderstorm.

She looked very much like an S&M-fetish Vulcan in a maroon tutu with army boots, and—was that a bazooka? And were those wings? Kitty eyed the gossamer wings that fluttered impatiently behind the woman's back.

"Tink, d'you bleedin' mind?" Pete asked, fanning away the last of the smoke. His face twisted into a frown.

_A fairy? _

_Yep._

_With a bazooka?_

_Check._

_And piercings?_

_Definitely._

_Okay, maybe it's just a nightmare and not a telepathic attack. No one's this crazy._

Tink looked from Kitty to Pete and back again. "Hoi, not this again," she said rubbing her temple.

"Not what?" Pete looked confused, then seemed to pale a bit.

"I know it was only for formality issues, to keep out an invading force, but you could at least tell me _when_ you're gonna cheat. I would know when to leave you for dead."

"Oh, that's bollocks, and you know it," he denied, then cleared his throat and promptly looked everywhere but at the two women in the room.

The punk-rocker fairy rolled her dark eyes. "I'm not gonna tattle to daddy if tha's wot you've got your knickers in a twist about. And besides all that rot, isn't she your ex?"

"'Ex?'" Kitty asked, thunderous. Who the hell was this woman? "I'm Pete's fiancé! There's no 'Ex' involved!"

"Time's up, twinkle-toes," Tink said with a huff. "The Supreme Sorceress (or wotever) gave us a timeline. We'd best follow it, or she may die n' all. When we get outta this fuckin' mess, you'd best tell your fiancée of our…situation."

Pete sulked, crossing his arms over his chest, rumpling his white shirt and black tie. "Y'know, you're a perfectly good example of why some animals eat their young."

She shrugged, her wings quivering. "Yeah, but without me you'd have an invasion of homicidal fairies with which to content. Quit cheating on me with your ex, and let's go."

_Now waitaminnit—Damn nightmare._

"But I haven't even—"

Kitty looked from the fairy to Pete and back again. "Pete, what's going on?"

"Sleep, Petal, Rasputin's on his way. Tell him: 'Telepathy's a no go in Limbo.'"

With that the fairy woman with the bazooka waved her hand and scattered pink and green dust on Kitty's nose. Darkness overtook her but not before she sneezed.

#

"So, is everyone with me?" Illyana looked around at the faces of her new teammates expectantly. Drool was never a good sign. Rolled back eyes either. It was a wonder they hadn't fallen— "Oh. Damn."

_This so wasn't in the plan_. In fact, she had never seen this scenario through her scrying. She gazed around at each of them as they lay prone on the ground. _Not good. _David was a strong Teke, but his telepathy wasn't as strong as this. He shouldn't have been able to knock them out like this. _Not good. Holy Mother, I need them. Please. _She dropped to her knees and shook her brother. Only the whites of his eyes gazed lifeless back at her. His heart beat erratically, his breathing labored.

Piotr's skin was clammy and pale when Illyana touched her scarred forehead to his smooth brow. "Please don't die, Piotr," she whispered. "I can't lose you again."

She breathed deep, jumped as thunder clapped above them. In moments rain funneled down, the flames nearest them, that hadn't been contained by the fire trucks, continuing to hiss as the multiple drops of water hit it. _I can do this. I've done this before._ Each of the fallen heroes, Amelia and Illyana disappeared, devoured by golden disks. She had to get them as far away from David as possible. Hopefully that would put them in their right minds once again.

Illyana re-emerged literally on Spiderman's shoulders, her long and colorful gypsy skirt draping over his masked face. He let go of the web thread and they began to tumble into freefall. It was all she could do to hold on as the web slinger flailed his arms helplessly.

"Cripes!"

They disappeared before anything more could be said with the exception of Illyana's final thoughts as they fell into the disk. _Why do I end up doing hero work in skirts? You'd think after ten—_

#

(I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again. I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again. I will never watch a spoof movie while writing a serious piece again.

This scene was only supposed to have the Pete/Tink/Kitty scene, but, meh... Walemma is some of that turtle power I was talking about earlier.

Input welcomed.)

XD


	25. Hero vs Telepathy

The Warrior with No Name

By: The Odd Little Turtle

(Characters are Marvel's. This is a work of fan fiction.

Thanks everyone who has been following this thing so far.

A few explanations ahoy. I believe this has been my longest chapter. Input welcomed.)

#

I shouldn't say things like that about Kitty. She is the light to the darkness that has been in my heart since I lost Zilya.

David knew it. I want to believe that Evie knew it as well. I miss not being able to ask her for advice.

Damn David. Damn him for using Zilya against me. I will never forgive him for that. At least Kitty was there with me. I have been meaning to speak with Kitty about it in greater detail, but she has been busy. Illyana has turned to her to help her adjust.

Illyana.

I could have lost my little sister to whatever demons she faced in her Limbo, and I would have never known. I would have blamed David for her permanent disappearance. He is a bastard. Illyana has already threatened to feed him to the N'agarai.

I have chosen not to question her ability to control the N'agarai demons.

#

The smell of freshly sown wheat tickled his nose as he inhaled a great lungful of air. Piotr blinked. That hadn't been what he had smelled before. Wasn't there smoke? There was some kind of fire. It was daylight. He looked up at the blue sky. A few white wisps of clouds glided overhead, blocking the noon sun, casting shadows on the pastures and farming fields. Wasn't there danger? Where was—_Home._

Piotr blinked once again, thick-lashed eyelids slipping down over his blue eyes in rapid succession. Home? Wasn't that in an apartment in the city? No, this was his motherland. This was Russia. How was--?

His breath caught in his throat. _By the White Wolf._ He couldn't swallow for the lump that was his beating heart. So he simply stood there—wearing baggy denim overalls, no shirt, worn steel-toed boots, leather work gloves, and a Gatsby cap to protect his head from the sun—in the middle of the potato patch, leaning on the hoe, and took in the collective farm's sights.

Each field (potato, wheat, turnip, rye and barley) was sectioned off by wooden fences. Men, women and the older children worked the collective fields getting their minimum required days or risked being sent to the Gulag. The black smithy was nestled further back into the woods, and beyond the woods was the federal road to the coal mine and also to Irkutsk, though only those with passports were allowed to travel there. Piotr felt lucky that he was one of the few in the Collective that possessed one since his older brother had been chosen for the space program.

The collective's wooden houses were in neat rows, some along the edge of the river, others closer to the farming fields, and some built along the edge of the forest. Each house sat on an acre of land and each house having its own private garden for food as everything grown in the collective fields had to be sold to Mother Russia. Some families had a small chicken coop, others had a small stable with a cow for milking, and still others had goats or pigs behind fences. There was a central area that kept the collective's livestock, a chicken coop, and large barn that held the workers' machinery. Beyond the fields, the houses, and single government building, the Kuda River lapped at its bank as it made its way to the Angara from Lake Baikal. From where he stood, Piotr could hear the great saws at the lumber mill at the Kuda's edge.

Children under the age of ten or deemed by the State too small or young to work, played near the little school house, but there seemed to be something wrong with that idea. Then he dismissed the notion. Illyana was fifteen. She was probably working one of the fields today. He hoped she wasn't off goofing around with that damn boy. What was his name again? Sam? They both had quotas as well as he did. He did his best to provide for the State.

Beyond the battered fence of the potato field, one of the collective workers, Johnny Storm, drove a tractor with a trailer, while his comrade, Ben Grimm, walked along and stabbed sown wheat stalks with a pitchfork and filled the trailer. They both wore denim overalls and work boots. Ben wore a big straw hat on his large orange head. Johnny had a New York Yankees baseball cap on backwards.

There was something strange about the sight before him, but, for the life of him, Piotr couldn't image what. It was a normal daily phenomenon. They were his neighbors. Johnny Storm and Ben Grimm always fought over who navigated the slow moving tractor. He shouldn't worry about it. So his face split into a smile as he observed the two arguing men.

"It's my turn to drive," Ben insisted loudly over the tractor's sputtering engine, as he walked, pitchfork in hand, next to lumbering machine. "You got to last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time—"

"Reed's in the barn refurbishing that other one, Grimm," Johnny hollered back. "You can drive it after he finishes that one."

Ben nodded, stopping to fork wheat into the trailer. He came to an abrupt halt as what Johnny said actually registered. "Now, waitaminnit, Matchstick." He jogged up beside Johnny. "I'm gonna drive that one when he gets done with it."

That started a whole new dispute, and Piotr laughed at his neighbors. He shook his head and got back to digging potatoes. He had just sunk his hoe into the ground when a familiar voice yelled from further away and behind him. Turning, Piotr's breath caught for a reason he could not identify as he saw the source of the voice. Didn't he live in the city? Which city? There was a fire in the city. Two fires, as a matter of fact. Was that why he had come home? When had he come home? Was this his home?

"Papa!" his daughter called happily as she ran from their house and into the potato field, her long yellow-gold hair flaring behind her, her green eyes big and bright. The little girl wore a red jumper with a white short sleeved top and little brown boots on her feet. She was out of breath by the time she reached him, and he scooped her up with a smile, her slight weight a miracle in his arms.

"Zilya?" he asked tentatively. This wasn't right. He kept his face a happy smile as he looked into his five-year-old daughter's eyes. She smiled back at him. His heart sped up.

"Mama says it's lunchtime," she announced. He wondered absently why he thought she may speak in Russian, but dismissed the thought. He and his wife only spoke English around her. Didn't they? She pointed to the sky above them. "The sun is straight up. And don't wear your boots in the house. Mama says that's a no-no."

His dismay grew, but he kept his voice light and good-natured as he held on to the tiny girl. "She said that, did she?" _Zilya should not be here. Zilya never saw the Mother Land._

"Uh-huh." Zilya nodded, her yellow-gold curls bouncing, and kicked a little for her father to set her back down. _What on earth is going on?_ He put her down and followed her to the nearest house determined to find out. Wet laundry hung on the clothes line in the back next to a small garden. He could see the great heads of cabbages that looked ready to be harvested. The wooden cottage had a small porch with a two person bench. The front door and windows were open to let the summer breeze in as it didn't have air conditioning. Canary-yellow curtains blew in the gentle breeze as did the oil lamp on the hook on the porch. There was one pair of smallish boots sitting beside the door. Zilya was already sitting on the colorful rug and tugging off her boots.

"No boots in the house," she reminded him and waited with a child's patience as he stepped onto the porch, stripping off his work gloves. He sat on the bench, placed the gloves beside him, and dutifully removed his mud-caked shoes. "Hurry, Papa! I'm hungry!"

He laughed, wished desperately that this was real. _This couldn't be real. It has to be a dream_. "What is on the menu today, Dewdrop?"

"Mama burned the borsch," she whispered loudly, holding her hand to her face as though someone might overhear. The little golden-haired girl's brilliant green eyes darted left and right before she continued, "she had to make kosher tuna sandwiches instead."

He blinked. His wife couldn't cook? He thought Anya cooked quite well. But then something told him he was angry with Anya, and he suddenly lost his appetite. He didn't want Anya to be here. She had betrayed him. She had taken Zilya from him. Hadn't she?

A brunette appeared in his mind's eye.

_Katya. Where is—_

"Come on, Papa." His daughter tugged on his arm. "Mama will get mad."

He didn't budge. "Dewdrop, what color hair does Mama have?"

"More school?" she asked in distaste, wrinkling her stub nose at him. Piotr waited patiently, unlacing and taking off his other boot. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of his feet. This was the strangest dream he had ever had. "Mama has brown hair with curls like me. Her eyes are what she calls hazel. When she's mad they turn dark. When she is happy they are light. They're kind of spooky when she's sad."

_Not Anya._ Anya had yellow-gold hair and green eyes. Zilya took after her mother. So who was—

"Kitty? Katya?" he called into the house as an experiment. Kitty walked out onto the porch, confusion etched onto her face, the midday light catching the green and gold flecks in her odd-colored eyes. She looked him up and down, studied his overalls, his shoulders, his face, his feet. Her eyes darted back to his. His gaze brushed her face, and then he studied her just as openly. Her curls were up in a messy twist tied with a pink ribbon. She wore a white, pink and green button up sleeveless shirt that accentuated her breasts and gray Capri pants that hugged her hips and exposed her delicate ankles and just enough of her tanned legs to entice him. Her feet were bare save the hot pink nail polish on her toenails.

"Peter?"

He inhaled the country air. "Is this a trick?" he wondered aloud.

"Probably," she admitted, though she still seemed confused as she looked around the porch and to the fields beyond. "First, I'm at Xavier's having a discussion with my late fiancé and some trampy fairy, and now I'm here. On a farm." Her gaze wandered back to his. "With you. Where ever here happens to be. There's no microwave here." She looked down at Zilya, looked truly perplexed. The little girl smiled up at her, and for a split second, Kitty looked fearful, but she took back control of her facial expression and returned the child's smile with a grin of her own. Piotr's heart thudded in his chest.

"Oh, and whatever was cooking when I got here is thoroughly scalded. Beet stew or something."

Piotr nodded, indicated Zilya. "You've already been properly tattled on," he smirked. "Borsch. You are in the Ust-Ordynsky Collective in Siberia. In my mind, I think," he added.

"Stranger things have happened," Kitty conceded with a shrug. He had to laugh at that, remembering his time with the X-men. "I expected Siberia to be… a little colder." She frowned slightly when Zilya hugged her legs.

"Are the sandwiches done, Mama?" the little girl inquired. Kitty blinked a few times. She looked like she wanted to cry. Piotr felt like he would join her if she did. This is how it should have been, he thought. He averted his face when his vision blurred, rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes.

"Sure, kiddo. They're on the kitchen island."

Zilya bounced into the house. Kitty sat beside him on the small bench. Their legs brushed and he felt the breath leave his body. They weren't skin to skin, but it felt like it. He didn't dare move lest they lose the contact.

"She said she was going to get her papa," she told him quietly after a long moment. "I'm in your mind, you think? Is she yours? Pete and I never had real children. Just the made up one Emma or Cassandra Nova stuck in my mind."

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"How did you lose custody?"

"Mutant." He spat the word through clenched teeth. "And then she died of what Xavier called the Legacy Virus."

Kitty sucked in air. "Peter, I'm so sorry." She laced her fingers through his. "This must be very difficult for you."

"You have no idea." He smiled sadly.

"I know all about mind-fucks, Peter. I was forced into servitude by an evil spirit. Not once, but twice. I was forced to think that I'd gotten married and had a son." She laughed mirthlessly. "I wake up sometimes and expect to see stretch marks. And then I was forced to think that the X-men kidnapped the son that I'd never really had. All to free a witch with no true body."

"Emma Frost did this to you?"

"Cassandra Nova hid in Emma's mind," Kitty explained, leaned her head against his bare shoulder, the soft skin of her face smooth and cool. "She wanted her body back (what was left of it). She used my phasing power to get it, and when I snapped out of it, I killed her body while she was in mid-transit from Emma's mind. Emma cut her links. We think she's dead."

Piotr nodded. He wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her. He knew this was the real Kitty and not someone made up. David must have slipped them all under telepathic hypnosis and put their consciousnesses in his mind. He could think of no other explanation.

But he didn't wrap his arms around her like he wanted to. He simply set his chin on the top of her head and continued to hold her hand.

Kitty sat beside Piotr wondering why in the hell she had just told this apparition all her secrets. Her throat burned and her chest ached. What was wrong with her? This was not Piotr. This was another psychic attack. She was in Siberia? Wasn't Siberia supposed to be cold?

They sat there in silence for a while watching the workers, her head resting on his powerful shoulder, his chin leaning on hers as he massaged the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Is that," she suddenly asked as she gawked at two of the workers.

Piotr nodded. "The Thing and the Human Torch. Da. They were at the Chrysler Building with me." He gazed at her intently, enjoying the feel of her skin against his own. "I think this is some kind of psychic attack. Maybe David isn't powerful enough to control more than a few people at a time."

"David?" she repeated. She began to rethink her earlier assessment. "As in your friend David?" He nodded. Maybe she was sitting next to Piotr after all. "David grabbed me? Your friend is making you relive your daughter?" Again he nodded. Though she felt a chill race up her spine at the thought, Kitty felt some degree of comfort with him sitting close enough to envelop her in his body heat. "So why is that we aren't under some kind of hypnotic suggestion?"

He shrugged, trying to remain stoic. "We were trained to notice a psychic attack," he suggested. "Perhaps the others have not had so great a teacher." Piotr pressed his lips to her temple, quickening her pulse.

She looked at him sharply. "Why did you do that?"

He smiled. "I wanted to." His tone was anything but apologetic. His lips dipped into a frown, his brow furrowing. "He kidnapped you and Illyana and told me to choose between the two of you. He plans to kill one of you. I swear to you now, I will not let that happen."

"Where's Illyana?"

"I haven't seen her here yet, but I haven't seen Logan, David's wife, or the remaining two members of the Fantastic Four either. Illyana's appearance is a long story. She was able to escape David and brought his wife with her. He must not have deemed her that big of a threat. His wife was a captive and Illyana believes he intends to use you to retrieve her. She did him a favor and rescued Amelia for him to use as bargaining chip. Illyana had a plan to get you, but if we are stuck in my mind, I think it's safe to say that the plan has changed."

Kitty sighed. "Well, he's got me in a straightjacket dangling off a roof. I can't use my powers. I guess throwing my consciousness into your mind took care of that."

"How so?"

"Well, I'm not going to activate my powers if I can't see what I fall into. I could wake up in the center of the earth. One wrong move and Crispy Fried Kitty."

Piotr couldn't help himself. "Finger lickin' good?" he inquired, then realized the implications of the joke. He felt his face heat up, and he laughed sheepishly. A scarlet flush raced like a fever across her tanned and beautiful face, but her mouth quirked in good humor. "That came out wrong," he admitted.

She snorted unladylike and opened her mouth to speak, but Zilya yelled from inside the house. "Mama! Papa! Come and eat!"

Both sets of adult eyes focused on the door warily, their fingers entwined tightly. Kitty turned to him. "Should we play along?" she questioned, her odd-colored eyes studying his face intently.

"I-I do not know." He looked at his hands, fearing more tears.

"Mama! Papa!"

Kitty surprised him by kissing him lightly on the mouth. It was quick, so quick he didn't have time to return it, only wonder if the event had occurred at all.

"I'm here for you, Peter," she told him quietly. "I'll make you a promise. Introduce me to your daughter and if the opportunity ever presents itself, I'll introduce you to my son. I may even forgive Emma long enough to let her in my head to do it."

He nodded and stood, helping her to feet. "I think I can handle that. Provided you don't eat provocatively again."

"Not the 'I'm a man, you're a woman' thing again," she mock-complained, a wry grin twisting her lips.

He chuckled as they walked into their temporary home. "It's only because it's you, Katya," he admitted, and leaned down and touched his lips briefly to hers, imitating her kiss from moments before.

"Ew," Zilya lamented around a mouthful of sandwich.

_#_

_Why do I keep doing hero work in skirts_? Illyana wondered as she concentrated and made sure that she and Spiderman emerged in different spots. _You'd think after ten years, I'd make sure to have pants handy._ She would have been very embarrassed if she didn't have as much control of her powers and had to emerge from the 'port sitting on his shoulders with her skirt over his head. It hadn't been her fault the skirt got caught. She was supposed to appear so she could grab his shoulders. Illyana thought it could have been worse: She could have emerged in front of him and landed in his lap with her skirt over his head. Now that would have been mortifying. Spiderman did not need to see her girly goodies.

When the 'port ended, they stood less than three feet apart, she behind him, in an abandoned warehouse. She was about to say something when he kicked back, his heel catching her in the stomach, unexpectedly.

"Oomph!" The sorceress doubled over. _Blessed Mother, don't let him kick me in the face_, she prayed as she tried to inhale the air that had been kicked out of her. Spiderman spun around to face his opponent, was taken aback that he had kicked a woman. Aunt May had instilled some high moral values. One was never to hit a girl. Since he had to break that rule (_in self-defense!)_ occasionally, he had modified it slightly: One was never to hit an innocent girl. It was all he could do to keep from apologizing.

"Who are you?" Mother, he sounded angry under that mask. Illyana, still clutching her throbbing belly, took a few seconds to catch her breath, and then held up a finger to stall for time. She looked at the whites of his large insect eyes, a little unnerved that she couldn't make out any facial expressions.

"Hang on a minute," she wheezed. "I'm a good guy. You could have died."

His retort was quick and lethal. "Yeah, cuz you fell on me." He wanted to believe her, but the pentagram that dangled from one of many chains around her pale neck warned him to be wary of her. _Never a good sign._ Pentagrams were almost always trouble.

"I did not fall on you," she informed him as she inhaled the stale air, a little angry that he would accuse her of falling on him, like she was some fat cow or something. _Yeah, whatever. Jerk._ She did what she had to do. He was getting too close to David. One more block and David would have sensed him. "I grabbed you and saved you."

He put his hands on his hips belligerently. "My spider sense didn't go off." And it hadn't. Though afterwards his skin itched so badly he wanted to scratch his skin off. Now there were only mild tremors, but he couldn't understand why. It put him on edge.

"Well, you can get off however you want, but I still saved your life. I've already been through this a few times."

She could not see him mouth, "Get off?" but she did hear, "Okay. I'm now officially confused."

Illyana summoned the others. They had been in an old office, but she brought them down, imagining the people as she had left them, a tricky feat considering it was difficult for her to teleport an object she could not see. She was lucky to be blessed with an excellent memory and a great sense of direction. Spiderman literally jumped when the Fantastic Four, Piotr, Logan, and Amelia appeared. Illyana felt like laughing when he let an explicative slip.

_Her powers don't really set of my Spider Sense._ Which was odd. The golden auras looked familiar. They kind of reminded him of Colossus' kid-sister's teleportation powers from last night. He studied the woman openly. With a mask, he could do that and get away with it. She was as tall as him, her clothing baggy and rain-dampened with the suggestion of nubile curves beneath her attire. The white peasant shirt laced low in the front with large sleeves. The skirt was reminiscent of the multi-colored patchwork quilt Aunt May had made him as a moving gift when he'd gone off to college. She was dressed like a gypsy, he decided, with those chains and baubles draped around her neck, the crystal studs piercings in her earlobes. Her blonde spiked hair and black tattoo heightened the translucence of her face in the dim light of the warehouse. Something flickered far back in those icy blue eyes of hers, eyes that had seen too much. A thousand wounds faced him from those eyes and he had to look away.

She stood, swearing slightly. Spiderman dropped into a defensive stance, but she ignored him and walked over to her brother, kneeling beside him. She lightly tapped his face with her fingers.

"Come on, Piotr, snap out of it," she insisted, her voice echoing in the building. She continued to speak, but it was more to herself than to the only other conscious person in the room, "I was hoping this was far away enough."

Spiderman followed her example and checked the others, going first to Johnny Storm. He toyed briefly with the notion of punching the blonde man's face, but thought better of it. He really didn't know what he was up against.

Suddenly Logan sat up and wiped the drool from his mouth with the back of his hand. "Damned telepath," he spat. He looked around, his eyes silver slits in the semi-darkness. "Spiderman. Yana. What the hell happened?"

"Unexpected telepathic attack."

"I thought you'd seen the future?" He eyed her angrily. Lightning lit the sky, illuminating the warehouse casting eerie shadows. Illyana shuddered.

"Apparently I was looking at the wrong one." Illyana quickly brought both men up to speed.

"Well, shit."

"Motto," Spiderman agreed. "I'm still confused," he admitted after a moment.

#

(Thanks for reading. Input welcomed.)


	26. Brain Bitch Smack

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(This is but a work of fan fiction. Marvel owns the characters. I'm just dabbling.

Many thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with this thing. You guys really make this worth it!

Input welcomed.

Chronological order?

Oh, I think not.)

_David, what's happened to you?_

David Brogan sucked in a quick, sharp gasp of air, nearly choking from the thick black smoke from the crash several floors below where he currently stood as it made its way through the translucent white plastic of the construction zone. He gazed around, eyed the sleeping brunette that dangled precariously from a rope.

_Amelia?_

David's mind's eye poured forth, creeping over the sawdust on the floor, surging over Kitty, looking into her dreams (_a fairy?),_ and moving on. His consciousness swept onward and down, down to the firemen, getting a peek at their thoughts before continuing its search for the one mind that –

She was—she was _Here_! "Amelia."

Pushing his way through the limited mental barriers that he'd taught her how to erect, the joy in his heart abruptly turned to horror. The Kingpin's men had hurt her, violated her. Anger sliced through him, and he clenched his teeth. They would pay with their lives, he vowed.

David sifted through her memories. Illyana had saved her. But…That wasn't…Who?

_Aged?_

_How?_

Amelia was looking at the tattooed blonde woman, but when he tried to access the woman's mind, it felt like someone back-handed his brain. He shook his head to clear it and tried once again to gain entry only to be rebuffed more severely. David yelled out in pain and quickly withdrew going once more back to his wife, his physical body feeling the wetness of a nosebleed on his mouth.

Amelia was enjoying Peter's arm around her. It made her feel safe.

Jealousy, bitter and black, reared its wicked head, a great anathema of sadistic power, consuming reason and any remaining will to think respectably within David Brogan, and David forgot about the throbbing in his head and bleeding nose.

Amelia was _his_ wife! He knew what Peter was capable of using his charisma. Peter was poisoning her mind with his false kindness, turning her against him, seducing her. Well, fuck him. David toyed briefly at just letting Kitty plunge to her death. She wouldn't be awakening any time soon. And she wouldn't be using her powers without a telepath more powerful than he was to remove the suggestions he planted in her subconscious. If she got of this alive, which he was doubtful she would, her powers would never function properly, if at all.

He rubbed his hands together, thinking of the excruciating pain her mind would make her think she felt if she activated her ability to become intangible. And if the pain didn't make her black out or if she got past it, he'd given her a subconscious need to merge with a wall.

Her consciousness had eluded him for a few minutes, but he'd found it shortly after she'd awakened from his second suggested sleep. David had been mildly surprised that she was in REM sleep dreaming of her late fiancé and a gothic-looking fairy with a bazooka. The dream wasn't all that strange, he found himself thinking as he remembered her memories of the alien Brood. And she'd only been a teenager when she'd faced them with her teammates and then by herself.

He respected her bravery enough to be wary of her mutation and her will power. She was dangerous to him if she awoke. If she phased, she wouldn't be affected by his telekinesis. Kitty had a strong barrier against intrusion in her mind from years of practice. At lunch, he had managed to only catch glimpses of her emotions after she had panicked at the mention of Illyana's foster father, the man David had only known as Logan. Fragments of her life had filtered through the barrier, giving him only pieces of a much larger puzzle. Images of a little boy had surfaced more than once.

David had assumed that it was her son but until he'd gotten a good look at her memories, did he realize just how lucky he'd gotten when he chose that particular image to ricochet off her mind's eye and give her an illusion of the child standing in the street and why she had reacted so strongly to the image his telepathy made her brain see. Hindsight: He shouldn't have hit the kid with a speeding taxi. Overkill as it were.

#

Peter Parker was mildly frantic by the time he realized that none of the others were responding to anything they were trying. It was like their higher brain functions had been moved elsewhere, and he was looking at their bodies with only the basic bodily functions working.

_Not good._

He found himself not wanting to have to tell the others when they awoke that they'd soiled their costumes while they were out. Thankfully, no one had done anything of the sort. It was only a matter of time before one of them did though. He prayed it wasn't The Thing.

_I'm _not _changing Ben Grimm's drawers. That's too many levels of sick and wrong to even begin counting._

_Wrong-sick._

The redhead seemed to only be in a deep sleep, though. Her eyes were closed. But she didn't seem to want to wake up anytime soon. He wondered if she had been at the Chrysler Building when the crash had happened. She had bruises and—were those finger bruises around her neck? He felt like someone had kicked him in the chest. The ring on her finger proclaimed her somebody's wife. Spiderman was seriously going to kick his ass. Beating a woman out of anger was never an option. Not even if she was a super villain. She looked so frail laying there, her chest rising and falling at regular intervals. Her eyelids twitched. _Rapid Eye Movement. _Sleeping beauty. She jerked in her sleep every so often.

And the blonde gypsy chick wasn't helping. She just sat there beside Rasputin doing some kind of wacky sign language. Who the hell was she? That was a really cool tattoo. _Well, that's not helping either, damn it._

"Can we get a few things clear," he asked a question, but it came out a statement as he hurried into his next inquiry. "How about your name?"

"Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina, Sorceress Supreme," she stated, but didn't look up from Rasputin. Illyana frowned as she made symbols in the air with her nimble fingers. "Gah!" she growled in irritation. She threw up her hands in disgust, bringing her fingers to her head and yanking on her short spikes. "Make that Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina, magic-less Sorceress Supreme. My more powerful spells seem only to work in Limbo."

His brows drew together in an agonized expression. "'Limbo?'" he repeated, horrified. "_The_ Limbo?"

"'_The_ Limbo?'" A delicate flaxen eyebrow tilted questioningly, ice blue eyes made contact with his brown ones through his mask.

"Ah, it's a Catholic thing," he told her finally, not really wanting to go into it, "Purgatory." He nodded to Rasputin. "You related?"

She nodded, her jaw tensing, betraying her deep frustrations. The quiver made the tip of her tattoo jump like real lightning. "I'm Piotr's little sister. He calls me Snowflake. You and I met last night. I was fifteen then."

_Time travel? Not another Cable._

"So you're from the future? What happened to the young you?"

She wagged her head in the negative. "There's only me."

He scratched his head, Peter Parker the physicist coming out to play. "How'd you age then?"

"Limbo."

"Yana, quit bein' difficult," Logan admonished gruffly. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was silenced by the small hirsute man's dark, angry expression. His silver eyes cut to Spiderman's masked face. "She got trapped in the Limbo dimension for ten years, but the place don't match up with our universe's time. So here she is, all grown up an' fuckin' up the time continuum."

_Oh, that made so much more sense_, he thought happily. _I should have just asked Wolverine everything._

"I haven't—" she began to protest angrily, body tense, face livid.

Logan cut her off at the knees, his voice uncompromising. "Ya shouldn't have dicked around with the time continuum, Yana. Who knows what the hell ya did ta our futures."

She scowled at him, her full lips turned down.

"Should we alert the Avengers?" Spiderman asked finally, looking first to Illyana then to Wolverine. He hated to do it. They didn't need any more catatonic and drooling heroes. _A real help there. _And S.H.I.E.L.D. was bound to get involved if he called them in. Tony was his friend, but he had a tendency to be an ass, especially when he thought he was right. This happened to be all the time.

"No," Logan said brusquely. "This is X-men business. We take care of our own."

_Yeah._

_Sure._

_Like you took care of Kitty._

_The X-men took such great care of her that she left._

But Spiderman kept his mouth shut despite his opinions and dipped his head in a nod, glad for the nth time he wore a mask. Not only did it conceal his identity, it kept anyone from deciphering his facial expressions, and right now his face was livid. He kept his body relaxed so Logan wouldn't call him out on anything.

"I get to help, right?" he asked just to ask. No way was he sitting this one out. Kitty was his friend. She took care of him while he was injured. The Four were his friends too. They'd been through a lot of crap through the years and he wasn't about to let the rogue telepath get off with only the wrath of Wolverine to face. Spiderman got a piece of him too. Although, knowing Logan, he'd probably only get an ear.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Illyana told him. That set his teeth on edge. It angered him that she thought he couldn't handle himself just because she looked through a crystal ball and saw his death. The future wasn't set in stone, and he wasn't about to let someone direct his destiny. He told her as much.

Her eyes blazed with sudden anger as she glowered at him, the blue irises going from icy blue to blue-black sapphire. "'Crystal ball?' Listen, Web-head, I scryed for an alternate future based on predetermined factors that I put into the spell. Of course the future isn't set in stone! I—"

"Yana, why didn't the other times work?" Wolverine interrupted her tirade. Spidey didn't know if he should be grateful to him or upset. She was kind of cute when she was mad.

Her face fell immediately, her eyes averting theirs. "Other factors." She played with the pentagram talisman about her neck absently. Peter Parker was an artist by trade and a scientist by nature. He wanted to know the other factors. If they could somehow duplicate them, there might be a chance to get out of this mess. He may be dead in one of the alternate timelines, but damn her for messing around with the continuum. Wolverine was right. For all they knew, something worse might be on the horizon. He felt like she was keeping something important from them. He really hated it when people only told half the truth. It was the same as lying.

_Calling the caldron black, Parker,_ he reminded himself, reigning in his anger before he lost his temper. Wolverine would probably punch him if he started a yelling match with her.

"What were the factors that interfered with the timeline, Illyana?" he asked, was pleased that he sounded normal.

"You, for starters," she replied bluntly. Her tone was neutral, her face devoid of emotion. She was merely stating a fact. "Another was that Kitty woke up and tried to free herself. David used some kind of—" She faltered, trying to find the words—"I don't know. Some kind of telepathic hypnotic suggestion. She can phase, but not for long periods of time and only through great pain. Other factors include David's desperation. I didn't find out until I went up and confronted him myself just how desperate he really is. He wants to free Amelia from the Kingpin but there's another problem."

Wolverine growled. "And what's that?" he demanded.

"I don't know. Kitty woke up then." She shut her eyes against the memory, chewing her lip.

Spiderman's body stiffened in shock as he came to a realization. "David's psychic powers don't affect you," he accused.

"I—No, they don't," she admitted, turned her head to look at him. "I've had years to build up blocks against snoopers. Anyone who tries gets the equivalent of a back handed bitch slap."

#

David Brogan reached out and snagged the minds of the heroes he saw from Amelia's point of view. He planted notions of sleep, poking in each of their psyches for elements to keep them asleep until he took care of Peter.

Then he did the same to Peter, Amelia and Wolverine (_Logan! Illyana's foster father!)._ He would have Peter bring Amelia to him and then David could do something cruel to him, but Peter's mind resisted his suggestion, insisting stubbornly that the building was not safe for Amelia.

Gritting his teeth, David gave up and pushed Peter into REM sleep. He gave each of the Fantastic Four roles to play and stuck their consciousnesses into Peter's suggested dream. On a whim, he snagged Kitty's sleeping consciousness and put her into his dream too. At that, Peter began to awaken, resisting sleep. Damn him. Kitty was still sleeping. David took all the heroes' consciousnesses and shoved them in her dreaming mind.

Wolverine's mind was fragmented and difficult to wade through. David had trouble keeping him asleep, but put the feral man's consciousness into Kitty's anyway. He was only out for another ten minutes before he awoke again. Then his consciousness disappeared.

David blinked, reached out for Wolverine, but the mutant was gone. He wondered if someone had found his body and loaded him into an ambulance. Damn it! Wolverine's mind was out of range. He reached for Amelia's mind. Gone! No, no, no! He searched the area frantically with his mind's eye, hoping to catch a glimpse of her. He wanted to comfort her, tell her that he could be brave and strong for her, that he had been planning to rescue her.

And Peter would pay for that. For trying to seduce her.

David grinned as he manipulated the illusion of Peter's dead daughter in Kitty's mind. Kitty and Peter resisted, but the Fantastic Four didn't question the fact that they were farmers on a collective farm in Soviet Russia as long as he kept them happy at what they were doing. His frustration with Peter and Kitty turned to dismay as he realized how attracted they were to one another. Feeling dirty for no good reason, he extracted his mind from the dream sequence. If he disrupted them, he might wake them up. And if Wolverine was out of range, it was a good idea to assume Peter's body was out of range too.

He wrapped his mind around Kitty, literally as he used his telekinesis to bring her sleeping body out of the rain. David knew what Wolverine's mind felt like now; he was certain he could stop him if Wolverine got too close. He lay Kitty gently down in the center of the room by a scaffold.

He smelled cherry blossoms for some reason, turned to see the blonde he'd seen from Amelia's point of view. He gasped, reaching out to attack, but getting another mind to mind bitch smack. Illyana grinned a wicked, baleful smile, her white teeth gleaming as lightning struck overhead and thunder rolled as if on cue. Her pupils dilated, expanding like smog to take over the entirety of her eyes. They were enveloped in an aura of gold. David closed his eyes momentarily.

When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the Chrysler Building. They were standing by the edge of a lake, triple suns setting on the horizon. Three suns? He didn't think he was on Earth anymore! He directed his gaze at Illyana, was taken aback at her rapid transformation into something terrifying.

A wind he didn't feel whipped around her as her blonde spiky hair grew into a platinum mane that swirled and danced with a life of its own. Her clothing disintegrated before his eyes, her top and chains about her neck melting away, leaving only a heavily jeweled chainmail bikini top and her skirt reshaping into a bejeweled leather loin cloth covered with chainmail. Twin horns sprouted above her eyebrows and curled out and upward. Her feet metamorphosed into cloven hooves and her calves reshaped and grew flaxen fur. Her exposed alabaster skin was riddled with black lightning. She drew a broadsword from the sheath on her back and silver plating raced like mercury up her left arm.

"Welcome to Limbo, David," she hissed, her forked tongue darting out to test the air like a snake. She pointed the large sword's tip at him. "Hope you survive the experience!"

David screamed, not caring that his shriek was high-pitched and feminine.

#

(Hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you thought of Illyana's darker side.)


	27. Hero vs Peace of Mind

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel characters property of Marvel. I made a few up.

Sorry for the lack of updates lately. Real life got in the way. I had to split this chapter in two. I will see about posting the rest tomorrow. It's too late tonight.

Oh, I did post a "Kitty has trouble with her powers during some awesome Colossus lovin'" drabble set in this universe.

Input welcome.)

#

Seeing my daughter, alive and well, in David's twisted re-imagining of Siberia, with Kitty as my wife was overwhelming to say the least. Kitty took it well. In fact, she took it better than I expected her to take it considering all that she's been through. Though, I would have preferred not to have gone through the experience at all, I am grateful for whatever thought processes David went through that caused him to put her in my dream. Or her dream. Or in whichever's mind we managed to end up. We have yet to figure that one out. He wasn't exactly forthcoming in his information once Illyana summoned the N'Garai demons.

#

The hollow sound of heavy rain hitting the tin roof echoed throughout the mostly empty warehouse. Lightning struck in the distance, illuminating the grimy, abandoned warehouse, the still bodies of the Fantastic Four and Piotr on the floor, Spiderman, who sat cross-legged, Logan, who sat supported by his arms with his feet sprawled out in front of him, and Illyana, who hovered over her brother's prone body. Thunder rolled soon after causing the dirty windows to rattle.

"So telepaths get a brain bitch smack if they try to read you?" Logan questioned with a significant lifting of his black caterpillar eyebrows. Illyana gave a forced smile and a tense nod hoping Logan wouldn't put her through twenty questions about her past. No one needed to know her secrets. No one needed to know what those monsters had done to her, what they had forced to her to do, to become. And she didn't want to relive the pain and misery and debauchery she had suffered through at the hands of the Demon Lord and his servants.

"So Kitty woke up," Spiderman prompted. "Can't you teleport Kitty out of wherever she's located?"

"I have to be able to see her."

"I can—"

Illyana shook her head furiously, rejecting the suggestion before it even passed his lips. "No. You've already gotten me close to her once. David saw us, telekinetically attacked you and Kitty." She swallowed, and continued, her voice distant, "I couldn't save you—it happened too fast for me to react. I managed to teleport her to Limbo, but I misjudged the rate of her fall and where the stepping disk let out. She fell into the Lake from the shore." She hung her head, scratching at the scar on her forehead. "It takes so much concentration to teleport someone else to Limbo. I—"

"She drowned?"

She tossed her head, gave an irritable tug at the wide sleeve of her peasant blouse. "I don't know. I'm not sure. I couldn't get to her in time." The blonde mutant hugged her knees to her chest; her booted feet disappearing beneath the expanse of her quilted skirt, rested her chin on her knees. "I can't go in the Lake. No one can go in the Lake. I fixed it where it never happened."

"How did—Never mind," Spiderman was beside himself with questions. He wanted to know all about Limbo. He wanted to know how she could fix it, but logic prevailed. Peter Parker assumed that if dimension had no time to begin with, then it was possible to go to any point in Limbo and cause an alternate string of events to take place. He was quiet a moment while the platinum spiky-haired woman slapped her brother's face. The large black-haired man didn't react. "Why can't you go into the lake?" Spidey inquired finally.

She looked up at him, a haunted expression on her face, in those ice-spoked blue eyes. She looked ethereal in the dim light. "Mer-people," she said softly, a tremor echoing through her voice, fear in her tone, in her eyes. _Mer-people? Like Mermaids?_ The young sorceress shuddered in what might have been revulsion or something altogether different, her eyes looking off into the distance and clouding with a memory the web-head was all too glad he didn't share.

She was silent until Logan spoke. "I spoke with 'em," he said, indicated Piotr. "They were in some kind of dream sequence, in Siberia. Zilya was there." He looked pissed a moment. Illyana's eyebrows shot up in surprise. David was torturing him? Anger simmered just below the surface. Oh, David would pay for that. Piotr had done nothing to David to warrant any of this. She imagined a horde of demons at her beck and call slowly taking their turn with him, ripping his flesh from his bones as he screamed for his life.

She was pulled out of her murderous reveries by Logan's gravelly voice when he asked, "Yana, why would yer brother think that Kitty and I are, were--" He paused trying to formulate words, clasping his hands together in confusion, revulsion—"together?" The Canadian sat on his haunches, his knees digging into the dirty floor, his hands on his thighs.

Illyana blinked, shrugged her shoulders. "I have no idea." What a gross idea, she thought, her thoughts no longer on demons or fairies or unicorns or the ravenous aquatic monstrosities of the Lake.

"Does 'telepathy is a no go in Limbo' mean anything to you?" he wanted to know.

Her blue eyes lit up. "Of course!" She smiled a real smile for the first time Spiderman had seen her, her lips parting in a dazzling display of straight white teeth that gleamed in the dimness of the building. "I'd forgotten about that!"

"What?" he questioned, Logan intoning his piece a nanosecond behind the physics genius.

"Telepathy doesn't work in Limbo."

If not for the mask, everyone would have seen the confusion that was evident in his voice. "So, what, you're just going to teleport David to Limbo?"

"I think that I'm gonna do just that." A smile of pure wicked glee spread on her face and Peter Parker swore the only time he had ever seen so much mischievous danger was when he and MJ were dating.

#

"It's only because it's you, Katya," Piotr told Kitty quietly, bussing a tender kiss across her lips. Her mouth quirked in amusement as he put an arm around her to deepen the kiss. His tongue reached out just as the child's voice that floated across the expanse of the small house hit his eardrums and sent his emotions into turmoil.

The small house wasn't big enough to contain his feelings. His heart kicked. Without realizing it, his grip on Kitty tightened. She gasped, and he let go almost immediately. He mumbled an apology, his blue eyes darting away to find his daughter staring at him.

_White Wolf. No._

Piotr wanted to hit something, to smash something, to hurt something. He wanted to punch David until his so called friend was a bloody pulp beneath his fists. The man Piotr had known for the better part of ten years was not someone who would do this. He was sure of it.

"David, why are you doing this?" he questioned out loud. Zilya only munched on her sandwich, pointedly ignoring him.

Kitty peered up at the tall muscular man beside her, her heart aching with the weight of his tragedy. He was tense, his hands fisted at his sides. His jaw was clenched, his mouth compressed into a taut line. The mouth that had been kissing her soundly before. That thought sent a jolt of awareness through her.

It wasn't fair that he had to relive this horror. She prayed to God that David wasn't sadistic enough to kill Zilya in this dream sequence. She had no idea how Piotr would react, what he would do, what he would say. And she had no idea to how to comfort him without being patronizing or showing pity towards him. The last thing the man needed was pity. Kitty knew that if the situation were reversed and Michael made an appearance, she wouldn't stand for pity from Piotr. She wished she could help him, could take away the pain that was etched so prominently into his features. She could only take his hand, hold him, offer some sort of human touch to ease the pain she felt emanating from him.

Her blood boiled at the thought of David screwing with their minds this way. She seethed with pent up anger at the man who Piotr had told her was a good friend. Hell, she had met the man only a few days before. The rapport the two had shared had been as close to brotherly love as one could get. Kitty vowed to make David pay for his crimes against her, against Piotr.

Piotr. He was the man whom had taken her in from the rain, had given her shelter when he didn't have to do anything of the sort. He was the man whom had invited her to lunch, who had invited her to share a piece of his time. And he was the man whom had called her when he and his sister were in trouble, when his apartment caught on fire. He'd turned to her for support and comfort, had trusted her with his cat and his little sister.

He was the man whom had kissed her with such tenderness in her apartment and just now in this terrible telepathic reality, this telepathic reality that seemed vaguely familiar. Okay, not the Siberia part, but this room, this home looked so much like her parents' home in Deerfield. Before the divorce, before her father's death in Genosha.

"Are you gonna be alright?" she questioned quietly, her eyes searching his visage.

He nodded curtly. "Da." He continued to watch his daughter, sighed and ran a hand across his face. He shook his head. "Nyet." His eyes darted to Kitty's. Piotr had expected to find pity there, instead he found understanding and compassion and another emotion he couldn't quite discern. His breath hitched in his throat. He knew if she continued to look at him that way that he would break down into an unmanly and shameful bout of crying. But that too, he knew she would overlook.

And with that thought a new kind of awareness settled over both of them.

"I don't think I can do this, Katya," he told her hoarsely. The rich timbre of his voice was suddenly gone and it felt like he had swallowed glass. He cleared his throat.

"Ya don't have to do it alone, Petey," Logan said from the door way. Piotr was torn between feeling relieved and dismayed. He was relieved that he had another friend there, but he was dismayed that Kitty's lover was in the dream sequence.

Piotr did give the short Canadian a smile as he took in the man's attire. Jeans, dirty boots and a short-sleeved plaid flannel shirt. He was taking off his work gloves as Kitty plowed into him with a jubilant laugh and a big hug, which he returned with a surprised smile. Piotr felt his heart plummet to his socked feet, his chest feeling tight.

"Been a while, pun'kin," Logan said gruffly.

Kitty stepped out of his embrace. "I should have called sooner."

"Ya still mad at me?"

Kitty shook her head. "Not as much now."

Piotr's heart hurt further still, but he shook Logan's hand anyway, careful not to give away his inner turmoil.

"Damned telepath," was all Logan said. The taller man nodded, waited for Logan to continue. "I think I can wake up from this though. Just gotta fight him."

"Just the same, it is good to see you again, Tovarisch," Piotr was honest and deceitful all in the same instant and immediately felt ashamed with his behavior. Kitty was not his. He should never have kissed her.

"David's already put me through another dream sequence," Kitty said abruptly, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. She crossed her arms in a protective gesture, and Piotr restrained himself from pulling her close, though he desperately wanted to. "Pete and some fairy."

Logan eyed her, his bushy, black eyebrows shooting up. "A fairy, huh? Little 'un or big'un?"

Kitty looked thoughtful a moment before answering, "She was my height, I guess."

"Pete say anything helpful?"

"Just that 'telepathy's a no go in limbo.' Whatever that's supposed to mean." She shrugged her shoulders, looked a little lost.

"Limbo?" Piotr asked, his blue eyes meeting Logan's darker blue ones for confirmation. "Illyana's Limbo?"

She looked confused, watching each man carefully. "What?"

Piotr gazed down at the woman he cared for and told Illyana's story.

Kitty stared. "So, she's my age now? Wait, how long have I been sleeping?"

"Not very long," Logan reassured her. "Limbo has no time constraints. She was probably only gone fer a few seconds compared ta how long she lived in Limbo."

"I can't wait to get reacquainted with her."

"Papa, who's that?" Zilya asked, pointing at Logan. She had wandered into the circle of adults while Piotr had explained what had happened to his sister. Now Piotr looked very much like he would burst into tears at any moment and Kitty took control of the situation, diffusing it before any more damage to could be done to the man she cared for.

"Uncle Logan," she answered smoothly. "I think it's time for your nap, Zilya." She took the little girl by the hand and led her to one of the two bedrooms away from a very distraught Piotr. It was the least she could do.

"But, Mama, I'm too big to take a nap," the little girl protested. "I want to stay up and talk to Papa and you and Uncle Logan."

"You aren't too big to take a nap," Kitty assured her, picking her up and placing her in bed, grinning at the stuffed Nightcrawler doll and stuffed Lockheed doll. "These guys need you to watch them. They are too little to stay up. You are just the right size to keep them company."

"Well," Zilya said, eying the stuffed dolls uncertainly, "if you think so, Mama."

Kitty gave her a kiss on the forehead. "Oh, I know so, kiddo. Get some sleep and let your food settle."

When Kitty came back into the living area, she immediately knew there was a problem by Logan's posture. Her mentor looked ready to throttle Piotr. Piotr looked oblivious to Logan's "I'm-gonna-take-out-yer-flaming-larynx-right-now" stance.

"So, you're not--" Piotr eyed Logan distrustfully.

Logan sputtered incoherently, choking on the thought, before yelling at the much larger man. "O' course not, dumbass!" The Wolverine looked ready to pounce. "Are ya outta yer flamin' mind, Ruskie? She's too much like my daughter ta--" He cringed. "Get yer head outta yer ass, Pete, and get back in the fight! I'll deal with ya later."

He looked over at Kitty. "The Ruskie's out of his flamin' mind!" He shuddered and then he wasn't there anymore.

"What was that all about?" Kitty questioned, stepping closer.

Piotr looked sheepish raising his hands as though to fend her off. "I'd prefer to talk about it later, but I think it was enough to wake him up."

#

(Input welcome.)


	28. Demons Within

The Warrior with No Name

By The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Marvel Characters belong to Marvel. I made a story up to play with them.

I'm actually glad I didn't post the other part of the chapter 27 because this is a serious revision of what was originally planned.

Thank you, everyone, for your patience and even the ones with Pokey-Sticks! Pokey-Sticks and duck tape make the world go round. Don't believe me? Ask MacGyver. And that ex-spy dude from Burn Notice. Woo!

Input always welcome and much appreciated.

Also, if anyone else enjoys reading Illyana fanfiction, go check out Xakko's Book of Magik, if you haven't already!)

#

Logan knew he was dreaming when he saw Ben Grimm in a straw hat and overalls.

Why he would dream such a thing was a total mystery to the feral mutant, but it was a dream nonetheless. If Logan had a choice, which he never seemed to have, he would have preferred to dream about a leggy redhead without a stitch of clothing, a big box full of Cubans, and a cooler full of beer on a fishing boat out in the middle of nowhere. Now _that_ would'a been a nice dream. But, no. Instead, he wound up with nightmares or this. Whatever, whenever, and where ever _this_ was.

And he wasn't too happy about it.

Logan leaned on the other side of what appeared to be a handmade wooden fence and a wheat field. The temperature was warmer than he liked, but he ignored such things for the moment as his blue eyes pierced the scene before him. Grimm and Johnny Storm were working in the field, Johnny on a large, lumbering tractor and Grimm trailing behind him, stabbing wheat stalks with a pitchfork and tossing them into the trailer attached to Johnny's tractor. Logan's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as watched them argue a minute.

"It's my turn to drive," Grimm hollered at Johnny over the churning of the tractor's engine. "You got to last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time—"

Johnny rolled his eyes heavenward as he interrupted Grimm's tyrade. "Reed's in the barn refurbishing that other one, Grimm. You can drive it after he finishes that one."

Grimm nodded and got back to work and then seemed to catch exactly what 'Torch had said. Wanting the refurbished one, he began a new argument with 'Torch, "Now, waitaminnit, Matchstick, I'm gonna drive that one when he gets done with it."

"Oh, I don't think so," said the blonde man, with a proud grin on his face. "Reed promised it to me."

"Like hell," The Thing snorted. "Just cuz yer family, don't mean nothin'. I want my own."

"Papa!"

Logan's attention was diverted from the confusing but amusing argument as a little blonde girl who resembled Shirley Temple ran full speed to who looked to be Peter Rasputin in the next field over. Peter dropped his hoe at the sight of the girl, blue eyes wide, his face a mask of anxious trepidation.

"Damn," Logan muttered, blue eyes narrowed, cursing whatever or whomever had landed him in this weird reality. Peter's tentative question confirmed the little girl's identity as the large man scooped her up and held her close. Feeling sick, dismayed and ever-so-slightly murderous, Logan scowled further, eying Zilya's doppelganger with contempt before ducking under the top and over the bottom of the two tiered fence and moving on behind The Thing and the Human Torch. He'd knock some sense into Peter later. His first priority was to find out where he was and how to get out of here. He continued on in search of the final two members of the Fantastic Four when The Thing and the Human Torch turned to do another row and had started verbally accosting each other--again.

He walked through the field and onto a path that lead to a large barn. Where ever he was, it was obviously a rural farming community, with fields of various plants taking up the majority of land. The temperature was moderate, and he was reminded very much of Siberia during summer. He'd been to Siberia several times in his lifetime and knew that Siberia, in some places, got as warm as 75 degrees or so in the summer months and dropped well below freezing during the height of winter. Blue eyes beneath scowling black eyebrows left nothing out. There were houses in neat rows and—

"Ust-Ordinsky," he realized aloud. Were they in Peter's dream? When Peter had not been allowed to return his motherland ten years ago and had been imprisoned as a traitor to the _Nodina_, Logan knew that the younger man had been devastated. The young Russian had suffered much in his three decades of life, first losing his country, then his wife, then his parents and brother and finally his daughter. Peter, though he'd treated her bad enough to get her taken away, was scared to death something would happen to Illyana.

The man called Wolverine eased closer to the large barn, pressing his back against it, stretched his neck around and glanced to see Sue Franklin, dressed in a drab-colored dress, handed her husband a glass of water. Reed smiled, thanked her and downed the liquid before crawling back under a tractor to fix whatever was wrong with it. Reed failed to notice the small frown that pinched her brow and tugged the corners of her lips downward. Brains needed to pay attention to his wife more, Logan found himself thinking then mentally shrugged. None of his business. No his problem.

He turned and watched as Peter took off his muddy boots outside a small house nearby, and was totally overwhelmed when the man he thought of as a friend called Kitty's name. When his Pun'kin stepped out the door, Logan couldn't help but give a smile of relief. The weight on his shoulders lifted and his heart skipped. She was okay. Thank God. There wasn't a scratch on her, and she actually looked happy, though confused, to see Peter. Pun'kin wore a white, pink and green sleeveless shirt that buttoned up and had a collar and gray Capri pants. Her brown hair was twisted on the back of her head with a pink ribbon. She was barefoot. She'd adopted the shoes off at the front door rule after her first run-in with Ogun. Logan's heart twisted at the memory, and his claws popped involuntarily. The pinching, burning sensation lasted only a second as the metal claws slid down their sheaths and broke open the skin in between his knuckles. The irritation served to jog him from his reverie.

Logan took a step closer when Pun'kin's confused but content expression became one of startled fear as her gaze settled on Zilya. He needn't have worried as he watched her get control of herself and relax, and his gaze dropped to that of Zilya, Peter's deceased daughter. Logan remembered Genosha and everything terrible his unofficially adopted daughter had gone through at the hands of Cassandra Nova. Kitty had blamed Emma—well, they all had thought Emma had turned on them. Even Jubilee, who had been Emma's student, had felt betrayed. And, after they found out otherwise, Logan, feeling sure that she'd listen to him, had asked Kitty to give Emma another chance. Of course, there was that business of Ogun just happening to reappear out of nowhere and then Pete Wisdom and his stupidity. _God save the Queen, my ass,_ Logan thought angrily. Wisdom could have let Kitty know what he was doing. She was his teammate and fiancée for Chrissakes. _Damn Fairies._

Logan growled softly as he leaned again against the barn, arms crossed, continuing to watch Peter and Kitty. They were talking softly as they sat together outside the house, Zilya scampering off into the house. Logan started, realizing he couldn't hear them. Where was his enhanced hearing? He scented the air only catching a whiff of, well, the air. It smelled like dirt and barley and fresh cut grass, but he couldn't discern anything else. He couldn't smell the Fantastic Four, Peter, Kitty or even Zilya, though the child had already disappeared from view. The feral mutant growled again knowing what he had originally assumed: that this was not just a dream but a psychic manipulation.

With that thought, Logan concentrated on waking up and, though it was like walking through very dense very heavy fog with someone beating him repeatedly with a blunt object, he briefly knew reality. Sirens, screams and the smell of smoke assaulted his senses. He was on his back, head pounding. Half-Pint—well she really wasn't his Half-Pint anymore, was she, he thought somewhat sadly—was leaning over him. He could smell her. Her spicy scent was spicier than when she was younger—yesterday—and it was laced with the harsh musk of adrenaline. It was only for an instant and then he was out cold again and back to the Siberia in the dream.

He was standing on the porch of the small cottage now, and he was looking in with a clear view of what was going on. Zilya was seated at the wooden table, her mouth full of a sandwich. She was watching Peter and Kitty closely as Peter leaned down and dropped a tender kiss onto Kitty's lips. Logan was surprised that Kitty let the Russian get so close to her, especially after Ogun's tampering, but what did he know anyway? It wasn't his business though he did feel protective of the woman now in Peter's arms.

Zilya voiced her opinion of the kissing couple loudly and Peter looked as though someone had sucker punched him. His countenance changed suddenly, and he glared at the little girl.

"David, why are you doing this?"

Now Logan had a name. Whoever this David was, he was going to enjoy turning him into a pincushion.

Kitty looked up at Peter, took his hand. "Are you gonna be alright?"

He nodded curtly but didn't look at her. "Da." He continued to watch his daughter, sighed and ran a hand across his face. He shook his head. "Nyet. I don't think I can do this, Katya," he told her hoarsely.

"Ya don't have to do it alone, Petey," Logan told him, having seen enough of this. It was time to get Peter out of here. Logan was pleasantly surprised to have an armful of his Pun'kin, and he gave her a grin. It had been too long since he'd seen her, hugged her.

"Been a while, pun'kin."

Kitty stepped out of his embrace. "I should have called sooner."

"Ya still mad at me?" he questioned really to have something to say to her.

He felt a little relief when she shook her head. "Not as much now."

_Now, huh? Well, it's a start_, he conceded.

Peter reached out, a look of sadness etched into his smile, and gripped Logan's hand in a firm but affable handshake. There was something else in the taller man's visage, but Logan couldn't place it. It was almost as though he looked… disappointed?

"Damned telepath," Logan told him and Peter's nod confirmed it. "I think I can wake up from this though. Just gotta fight him."

Again the peculiar look crossed Peter's face. "Just the same, it is good to see you again, Tovarisch," he told the shorter man quietly. Logan felt like he'd just been lied to, but ignored the feeling. He wasn't really himself in this manipulation. Everything was distorted by a crazy telepath. Hell, this may not even be Peter he was talking to.

"This guy's already put me through another dream sequence," Kitty said abruptly, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. "Pete and some fairy."

_How the hell--?_ Logan's bushy brows rose. He refused to give into the temptation of telling Kitty the story Betsy Braddock had told him about how Britain and possibly the world was being overrun with murderous fairies and the only way to save it was for someone to marry the damn fairy princess. _Damn Fairies._

"A fairy, huh?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "Little 'un or big'un?"

"She was my height I guess." She gave a shrug.

Huh, maybe Ol' Wisdom was trying to be helpful. "Pete say anything?"

"Just that 'telepathy's a no go in limbo.' Whatever that's supposed to mean."

Peter and Logan shared a look. _Wisdom might be helpful after all,_ Logan thought as Peter asked out loud, "Limbo? Illyana's Limbo?" Logan could only shrug, oh, so helpfully. How the hell should he know anyway?

Kitty looked thoroughly perplexed. "What?"

Peter explained the events that had taken place in Kitty's absence and went on to tell how Half-Pint had taken on an overlord in Limbo.

At the end of the tale, Kitty stared at them both. "So, she's my age now? Wait, how long have I been sleeping?"

"Not very long," Logan reassured her. "Limbo has no time constraints. She was probably only gone for seconds compared to how long she lived in Limbo."

"I can't wait to get reacquainted with her."

"Papa, who's that?" Zilya asked, pointing at Logan.

"Uncle Logan," Kitty answered smoothly. "I think it's time for your nap, Zilya." She took the little girl by the hand and led her away. Logan took the opportunity to intimidate Peter after he was sure they were out of earshot.

"She ain't one o' yer bimbos, Petey," he said, not mincing words.

Peter had the audacity to look wounded, holding up his hands, a faint flush spreading across his face. Logan had to fight to keep his face neutral. "We're just friends."

"Bullshit, I saw ya 'fore I walked in," Logan poked a strong finger into the Russian's chest, causing him to wince. " Ya had yer tongue down her throat."

"She—I—we—" The big Russian stopped stuttering and frowned down at Logan, dropping his hands to his head. He looked almost guilty. "I think… I think I love her, Tovarisch." Logan had to strain to hear the last part, and he found himself inexplicably angry.

Peter couldn't even take care of his little sister. Kitty was a special girl, but there was no way in hell that Peter could possibly be able to love her. Logan knew what the Russian had been through with his wife and daughter and how he now treated the women he slept with. There was no dating with Peter. As far as Logan was concerned, Peter was a dog.

He told the Russian, "She went through a lot last year."

"She has told me."

He snorted, crossed his arms over his chest. "I doubt it."

Peter tried again. "We are friends, and—I wish for more."

"Tough," the feral man growled.

Peter scowled and ran a hand over his face. He sighed and looked Wolverine straight in the eye, something he hadn't been able to do when last they'd spoken about women. "Look, just because she is your ex-lover—"

"Whu--?" Logan gaped like a fish before bristling and sputtering incoherently.

"So, you're not--" _That had better not be relief, I see, Ruskie._

"O' course not, dumbass!" The Wolverine yelled. "Are ya outta yer flamin' mind, Ruskie? She's too much like my daughter ta--" He shuddered in revulsion. "Get yer head outta yer ass, Pete, and get back in the fight!" He tugged on his hair in frustration. All it took was one woman and Peter was a pile of goop. "I'll deal with ya later."

He looked over at Kitty, who had reentered the room. "The Ruskie's out of his flamin' mind!" He shuddered again at the thought, and then he was flat on his back and staring up at a metal ceiling. _Was that all it took?_ he wondered as he sat up and took in his surroundings.

#

This was a really bad idea, Illyana thought as she raced down the sidewalk, weaving in between pedestrians as they hurried on their ways home. The streets were still clogged with irritable drivers trying to get home from work, and traffic was so much worse now because of the catastrophe up ahead. Soaked to the bone and still several blocks from the Chrysler Building, the sorceress was none too happy about the turn of events. She had been so sure she had taken the correct route, made the right choice. But the other times she had been sure too. It wasn't really her fault that she had gotten the others killed. The first time, she didn't know David's capabilities. The second time, she had underestimated her own. Memories of her mistakes surfaced as she thought of Spiderman's simple question: "Why can't you go into the lake?"

Kitty's agonized screams would forever haunt her. Her screams transitioned into Cat's shrieks and Colossus' cries as the memories became darker. Illyana shook her head to clear her thoughts. Now was not the time to be thinking such things. Cat had been like a sister to her, and she was determined to have a similar relationship with Kitty, albeit a less aggressive one.

Kitty was still alive now, the others were safe, and there was nothing she could do now to save Cat or Colossus from their fate. Or rather she shouldn't do anything. It was their sacrifice, willing or otherwise, that had enabled her to defeat the Demon Lord and to escape. Without them—or that Witch, she mentally added with a twinge of something felt remarkably like regret—Illyana felt sure that the Demon Lord would have grown too powerful for even her Sword to defeat.

Illyana paused, taking in great heaving breaths even as the rain fell in sheets onto her blonde spiky hair and her already saturated clothing. Only a little further. She could see the emergency vehicles in the distance. At least now, Illyana had more information than she had in the beginning. Logan's revival had given the sorceress a clue to the telepath's power. David had a range. Luckily she had guessed his range and gotten them to safety. And now they were waiting in Limbo for her.

Oh, how she wished Piotr was awake to really pound David. She detoured down an alley and activated her powers, appearing nearer to the building. David. The Cretan. She did not fully understand why Amelia had been taken, but she was sure it was his fault. If David had only asked Kitty, Illyana knew without a doubt that Kitty would have jumped to help him. Colossus had told her that Cat had been that way before the Demon Lord had imbued such mistrust into the woman.

The blonde Russian woman took a cleansing breath focusing her thoughts on getting into the building up to the proper floor. She edged closer to a fire truck and peered around, blue eyes taking in all. Rescue workers were steadily running people out of the building. A fire chief was giving orders in a walkie-talkie. Flames crackled as the firemen desperately tried to quell the rage of the inferno on the upper floors. The flames hissed in the rain, crying out in anguish as some of them were quelled by the tumbling drops of water from the sky and from the power sprays of the firemen's hoses. Smoke caused her to nearly choke and gag. The old fears surfaced, but she went through the series of exercises long-ago instilled upon her by Logan.

"Time to get Kitty," Illyana said quietly and called forth a stepping disc to take her to the floor she needed to be, reappearing just behind the madman. What she saw up there kicked her blood pressure into boiling. Kitty lie drenched and unconscious, strapped in a straightjacket, on the cold floor. If she was going to Hell, she thought vehemently, then she was taking David with her.

And suddenly, it was a very good idea. The N'Garai would love his flesh. She could add his soul to her collection. She seemed to recall that she enjoyed collecting such things just as the pentacle on her hand glowed eerily. And he screamed like such a little girl when Darkchilde made her intentions known.

Limbo stretched out before them as she called her weapon, the Sword that the Demon Lord had wanted so very badly. The pentagram on her hand pulsed, sinking into her skin, black scrawling slithering up her arm over her back and down the other, forming black lightning against her red-colored skin. The Sword throbbed against her hand, power coursing through her, and she allowed herself to dive deep into her hate, loving the fact that the little human was cowering and screaming before her. Darkchilde wanted so to have another soul. She was good at collecting things, she thought as the pentacle on her hand glowed a deeper red and the lightning bolts on her body writhed with a life seemingly of their own.

"Welcome to Limbo, David," she taunted, eyes narrowed to slits, "hope you survive the experience. I very sure you won't."

Two of her precious N'Garai slithered and hissed and snapped and the little human screamed louder, wetting himself in the process. Oh, how delightful. Yes. Yesss. The little human's soul glowed. It would be soon that she could have it for herself. A new demon. Yes.

"Look, look!" the demon sorceress crowed to her minions. "See how he fears us!"

The scaly N'Garai grinned, baring their spiky maw of teeth, acid drool dripping. "Human flesh," they hissed in a language only Darkchilde knew.

"You took me and my friend," she told David, holding her sword aloft, "and used us against my brother, David. For that you will be punished!"

"N'Garai Demons? " Piotr's voice asked from behind them. Darkchilde whirled around, horrified that Colossus was awake. His eyes widened as he took in her demonic appearance. "Illyana? What—what has happened to you?"

#

(Hopefully it was worth the wait. Input welcome. I'd like to know what you thought.)


	29. Hero vs The Telepath

The Warrior with No Name

By the Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie

(Characters who belong to Marvel are obviously not mine. I'm just playing with them. Zilya, David and his mother were invented for this story by yours truly. She-Ra and the Princess of Power belong to whomever they belong to and are only used for reference.

This chapter has been giving me grief for quite some time. It probably would not have gotten written in this tone—or possibly at all—had Darkbat not complained about the sexual tension in my rough draft. Thank you for your insight on the other peculiarities as well, DB.

Thank you, everyone, for reading, your patience and your reviews.

As always, input is welcome and appreciated.

Enjoy.)

#

I feel like I've known Peter forever. I haven't felt this…connected with anyone since Doug. That's not to say that I don't…didn't love Pete. He was a great man. He was strong, compassionate, trustworthy and competent. But, you see, I had to warm up to Pete. Pete had entrenched himself in so many layers trying to hide himself from the world, and possibly even himself, that he never really showed anyone who he really was. Not even to me.

Peter's heart is on his sleeve.

#

Piotr blinked awake, the last vestiges of the dreamscape billowing away like smoke in the wind. He still vaguely felt the touch of Kitty's lips against his, the taste of her tongue in his mouth, the softness of her hair against his fingers. A wave of emotions raged within him. Piotr didn't know if he should feel relieved or disappointed, lonely or angry. Trapped in his own mind with the image of Zilya haunting him, the experience would have been unbearable had it not been for Kitty. _Katya._ He and Kitty had been locked in a long, soul-searching kiss when his body had woken up. It was the thought of being able to hold her freely, without reservation, without consequence, that made his heart turn in disappointment, even as he wondered if her body felt as supple in real life as it had in the dream.

It almost felt as though he were returning home from a long vacation and had to resume work that afternoon.

Three suns radiated the strange environment with their varying degrees of light, gold, red and dull white. Startled by the revelation, he awakened fully, adrenaline pumping into his veins. This was not home. This was not the dreamscape he had just been in. The trees of the forest were unlike anything he had ever seen or even imagined seeing. They were thin, like palm trees, but the top branches reminded Piotr of the white, seeded clocks of dandelions, though the needle-like leaves were light green instead of white. The striped brown and green bark flaked like river birch trees, the two-tone bark littering the ground from around where the trees sprouted from the dark brown, ruddy, and lavender underbrush.

The artist in him automatically began color blending combinations, and he knew instinctively that he would end up painting this strange forest with its green and brown striped trees and green poufs of needled leaves. He would need yellow ochre, burnt sienna, umber and cobalt blue. Piotr shook his head. Now was not the time to be thinking about painting. Now was the time to think about how to handle the situation as he should have done in the other dreamscape. Yes, he would definitely ask Scott and Emma to rejoin the team. He, at the very least, needed the training.

The ground on which he lay was spongy and a little moist on his exposed skin. Looking down at his attire, he found that was only in shredded jeans, what he had been forced to wear after transforming in the parking garage when Illyana had reacquainted herself after aging. He surmised, as he gazed up at the trees' strange spherical tops, that that meant he was either in his sister's Limbo or he was in another dream sequence, but he suspected the former over the latter. The area smelled of cherry blossoms, dead wood, decay and something else altogether unpleasant.

Wondering in which direction he should go to find his teammates and his sister, he leaned up, but a sudden wave of vertigo hit him and he was forced to lay his head back down. He put a calloused hand to his head, to stop the world from spinning.

"Hey."

Piotr turned his head sharply at the voice and saw Kitty. He watched her face blur and then split into two identical images before they sprang back together to form Kitty's face again. He blinked a few times before zeroing back on her, focusing his gaze, meeting her eyes.

Kitty was there. She was laying beside him, watching him, curiosity shining brightly in her odd-colored eyes, her head pillowed on a red cluster of ferns. Flecks of gold and green reflected under the light of the three suns as she smiled at him. Her hair was messy, picking up glints of bronze and auburn; some of her ringlets had fallen from the ring of twists while others had stayed. A flush came unbidden to Piotr's face as he remembered again the soft lines of her body against him, the moist, lushness of her mouth on his, the scent of lavender of her shampoo.

"Are we awake yet?" he asked, his lips quirking into a smile of relief and embarrassment. Kitty was safe. She was here—wherever here was. Instant regret filled him. He should have behaved himself before. Hell, they were in danger, probably still were and he couldn't get his mind off her.

An amusing little blush shadowed across her cheeks and nose as she tilted her head and tried to sit up. Piotr's smile faded and a cold, congested expression settled on his face, his dark brows drawing together, the blue of his eyes clouding. Kitty was bound with a rope and fastened in a straight jacket. Fury almost choked him as he sat upright. Ignoring the dizziness he all but grunted his malcontent with the present situation. When he got his hands on David, Piotr's ex-best friend was going to be in a world of hurt. His thoughts cut back to the white sheet of paper and the harsh black letters. _Choose._ His scowl deepened. Choose? He had no choices what so ever. Illyana had gone through ten years of her life and had come back to save them. To save Kitty. What kind of man was he, if he couldn't save those that he loved?

Zilya.

Illyana.

Katya.

What good was he?

_This is my fault_, he thought angrily. _David was trying to get back at me for—for what?_ He voiced his guilt as he leaned over and snapped the rope. His chest was tight and burning. He sucked in air trying to calm himself.

"Peter," she told him gently, moving uncomfortably in her restraints, "there's no point in placing blame on yourself. If David had focused his attention on someone else, it would only be David's focus, not yours. We can control our destiny by controlling our own actions, not the actions of others." She looked at him. "But I got dibs on the first punch." She frowned mightily as Piotr tinkered with the buckles at the back of the straight jacket. "I told you he put me in a straight jacket." She sounded breathless with rage.

"You get the first punch," Piotr said quietly, his flesh sliding into organic steel. "I will kill him."

Kitty's green- and gold-spoked brown eyes widened a fraction in wonder when he impatiently tore through her bonds as if they were paper revealing the spaghetti-strapped halter top. She shrugged away what little remained of the tough material, flicking it with her sculpted nails.

"Wow," she breathed. Her breathlessness had nothing to do with anger this time. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. His eyes, his skin, his hair—everything was coated in steel. The metal of his skin glinted in the light of the strange suns, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination as he was only clad in extremely torn jeans. Wanting to know the comfort of his powerful arms and if he was warm or cold to the touch, Kitty had to fight her overwhelming need to be closer to him. She knew a moment of realization as she studied him. "Now, I know why you were given the codename Colossus."

He looked at her as though seeing her for the first time since changing, the strangeness of his steel-glazed eyes entrancing her. "You knew?" Even his voice had changed. It wasn't hollow or metallic, but deeper with more resonance. Her stomach fluttered as did her heart.

"Just figured it out," she told him with a shake of her head. "Your pictures are in several places at the mansion, but only when you look like this. Not the…the flesh and blood form."

He ducked his head, and then stood, reaching down and lifting her to her feet. She marveled up at him as he towered above her. He had to be at least seven feet and some inches tall.

"You are safe now, Katya" he told her. She stared wordlessly at him, her heart pounding. Kitty didn't think there was ever a time in her life she had felt safer. It excited and frightened her all in the same instant. Flashes of the dreamscape flickered across her mind's eye, the way he had pulled her roughly to him, how persuasive his lips over hers, the heady feeling of euphoria as he kissed her to senselessness. Even there she had felt safe.

"I did not hurt you, did I?" he questioned fearfully as though just realizing his brute strength. "I got impatient with the buckles."

Kitty shook her head, placing a small hand over his, amazed at the cool smoothness of his steel skin and the sheer size of him. "You couldn't hurt me if you tried, Bear King." She winked at him. "I can walk right through you, remember?"

He smiled and her heart turned over. Even his teeth were silvery metal.

"This is the strangest place I've ever been in," Kitty commented as she took in the surroundings. "I feel like I should be in tights and leotard."

He gazed around, nodding, trying to picture Kitty in tights and leotard but ended up picturing her in a teddy instead. "'Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy'?" he asked, trying to get the racy image out of his head. In an instant he was thankful for his mutant power unlike he had never been. That image would have gone straight to his groin. He had no bodily responses in his steel form.

"Nah, I was thinking more of The Princess of Power," she told him with a giggle. "I need a magic broad sword, a Pegasus, and a rebel army."

An indistinct female voice yelled nearby, and Kitty and Piotr immediately responded by running in the direction it came from. The shriek that followed it spurned them on, and Piotr was the first to clear the strange striped trees. What awaited him frightened him even in his changeform, and he stopped in his tracks, his bare feet digging great grooves in the white sand of the lake's beach. The metal of his face contorted in shock even as Kitty closed the distance between them and stood beside him. Piotr grasped her by the hand and pulled her behind a tall clump of brown and purple grasses, shielding her with his body.

David Brogan, the man who had kidnapped his sister and his friend and forced Piotr to watch his dead daughter, cowered as a blonde red-skinned, cloven-hoofed woman spoke in hisses to what appeared to be N'Garai demons. Piotr had not remembered them being so large.

_But the N'Garai were trapped in…_

His mind went numb with the possibilities and, even in his changeform, he felt his body react to the shock. Though his bodily functions were in stasis while armored, the automatic response to swallow worked his throat anyway.

Kitty thought that they were perhaps still dreaming and whispered as much to him, but he shook his head. "Those are N'Garai, Katya," he whispered back in certainty, his eyes never wavering from the spectacle before them. "This is no dream. We are in Limbo. We've got to find Illyana and get the hell out of here."

Kitty opened her mouth to protest, but studied the vicious-looking, insect-like demons closer. They were much bigger than she remembered. When she was thirteen, she had blown up the hanger trying to kill one—one that was much, much smaller than the two before them—before she had remembered Doug's talisman. Dr. Strange had given the talisman to Doug on one of their many magical adventures. But these—these were huge demons.

_A baby?_ She thought in horror. _I was almost killed by a _baby_?_

The demon turned to her minions and hissed and tweeted at them. They hissed and clicked in return. Her thick, red-skinned tattooed tail slapped the ground scattering sand. It twitched with a life of its own.

Kitty eyed the she-beast, the N'Garai and David as she chewed her lip. Stealing a look at Piotr, she inquired, "We're gonna have to save him, aren't we."

He looked at her sharply. She must be joking, he thought, though the look on her face told him otherwise the moment the thought flickered to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't sigh, but he did shrug his shoulders.

"I would prefer they finish him off," he told her glumly.

She stirred uneasily. "So, what, we just wait for her to chop off his head? It shouldn't matter what he's done. I'm not going to stand by and let someone get killed."

He shrugged again. "And what of Emma, Katya?" he wondered aloud. The thunderous expression on her face told him he was either right or in deep trouble. It was probably both. "Look. Neither one of us stands a chance against the N'Garai. Even if you did defeat one when you were thirteen. And we have no idea what kind of sorcery the woman is capable of."

She was uncomfortable with the fact that he'd spoken the truth, but he was right. Logic trumped emotional response. They had no magic and the demonic woman in front them seemed to be their leader.

The woman raised her sword, the metal of her arm glinting in the suns radiance, and David, limpid brown eyes widened with fear, cowered further, shaking his head pathetically. "You took me and my friend and used us against my brother, David," she yelled. Both Piotr's jaw dropped and Kitty gasped, horror etched across both man and woman's faces. The beast in front of them was Illyana. "For that you will be punished!"

Piotr stood quickly, his mind racing. "N'Garai Demons?" he questioned almost stupidly. Illyana did not complete the blow, just barely able to curtail her swing. She whirled around, her expression a mask of shock and sorrow. His sister's once beautiful face now something that he nearly didn't recognize.

_Boizhe Moi._

"Illyana?" He became flesh and blood immediately, staring at his sister, his Little Snowflake, horrorstruck. This was too much for him to bear. "What…" His blue eyes darted from her horned head down to her cloven-hoofed feet, his gaze lingering on her armor-incased arm, sword, the flaxen fur of her legs, and the black lightning tattoos that covered almost every inch of her reddened skin. "What has happened to you?"

The demons hissed at him moving forward menacingly and she signaled them to halt giving a hiss of her own. They slithered back but continued to watch as the scene played out.

"This—this is what I…" She looked at her hoofed feet, took a deep breath and met his gaze again. "I defeated the Overlord. I took his place." She sheathed her sword and hugged herself. "Please don't hate me, Piotr," she begged, tears welling in her golden eyes.

Piotr swallowed. His sister was a demon. How could he have let this happen to her? He had not been able to save his daughter and now his sister was...she was... Snowflake... Piotr Nikoleivitch Rasputin, the former X-man known as Colossus, clenched his fists, glaring at David, Piotr's eyes blue stones of hatred.

Kitty approached cautiously, very aware of the acid-drooling N'Garai watch their every move. Piotr and Illyana seemed to be oblivious to them, but David, who trembled on the ground, was not. The strong odor of urine confirmed her first impressions of the man. He was nothing but a coward. Still angry, Kitty wanted nothing more than to hurt him, but chose not to make any sudden movements lest the N'Garai decide they needed a Kitty snack.

Her eyes darted around just in time to see Logan, Spiderman, a red-head—Had Parker and MJ made up…again? She wondered—and the Fantastic Four exit the strange forest. She turned attention back to the N'Garai, to David and then to the murderous glare on Piotr's face.

Sensing Piotr's internal struggle, Kitty took a step forward, but was too late; the Bear King would have no mercy. He screamed incoherently and lunged for David, striking his former friend with a blow so hard it lifted the man and carried him a few feet further than he'd been crouched. Kitty winced, both appalled and pleased.

"No, Peter!" David cried, even as he struggled to crabwalk his way backwards away from Piotr, his nose clearly broken, "No! No! No!"

Piotr punched him, his promise of letting Kitty get in the first punch broken in his anger. Kitty, however, said nothing. Although her anger was just as justifiable for David using her son against her in such a horrific way, she had not been close to the man as Piotr had. She was mildly surprised that Piotr had not assumed his metal form yet.

"You. Had. No. Right!" Piotr punctuated each word with a fist to David's face and stomach. His ex-friend could do little to defend himself. "You took my sister! You took my friend! You tortured me with my daughter's image! Did you not think I would get angry?" David's face was bloody and swollen, several ribs cracked, welts rose on his arms from trying to protect himself against Piotr's fury, but Piotr Rasputin was relentless. The others closed in around him even as he continued his assault, even as David begged for his life. "Did you think I would forgive you? Did you think you were safe because of your mutant powers?"

Spiderman grabbed the big man, tugging him with all his might. "Peter, you gotta stop, man." Spiderman's strength barely held Piotr's in check as Piotr struggled to get free, to harm the man whom he once trusted.

"David!" Amelia was suddenly there, throwing herself over her husband, looking up at Piotr with pleading eyes.

"Why?" He screamed, ignoring the woman. "Why did you do this? What have I ever done to you but call you friend?"

David's voice was raspy and his breathing labored. "You took everything." And he passed out.

#

(Input welcome. I can safely say "Only two chapters and epilogue left to go.")

Hey, look! Colossus can't "Blooorrch." He doesn't have bodily functions while armored. ;p


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